Tall Pickett went up to Longstreet⁠—his handsome face was drawn. George Pickett, old friend of Lincoln’s in days gone by with the blast, When he was a courteous youth and Lincoln the strange shawled man Who would talk in a Springfield street with a boy who dreamt of a sword.

Dreamt of a martial sword, as swords are martial in dreams, And the courtesy to use it, in the old bright way of the tales. Those days are gone with the blast. He has his sword in his hand. And he will use it today, and remember that using long.