So with the troops and the leaders of the bear-armies, The front-page-newspaper-things. Tall Lincoln reviews Endless columns crunching across new snow. They pass uncheering at the marching-salute. Lincoln sits on his horse with his farmer’s seat, Watching the eyes go by and the eyes come on. The gaunt, long body is dressed in its Sunday black, The gaunt face, strange as an omen, sad and foreboding. The eyes look at him, he looks back at the eyes; They pass and pass. They go back to their camps at last. “So that was him,” they say. “So that’s the old man. I’m glad we saw him. He isn’t so much on looks But he looks like people you know. He looks sad all right, I never saw nobody look quite as sad as that Without it made you feel foolish. He don’t do that. He makes you feel⁠—I dunno⁠—I’m glad we could see him. He was glad to see us but you could tell all the same This war’s plumb killin’ him. You can tell by his face. I never saw such a look on any man’s face. I guess it’s tough for him. Well, we saw him, for once.”