"Beside this corpse that bears for winding sheet
The stars and stripes he lived to rear anew,
Between the mourners at his head and feet,
Say, scurrile jester, is there room for you?
* * * *
"Yes, he had lived to shame me from my sneer,
To lame my pencil, and confute my pen —
To make me own this hind — of princes peer,
This rail-splitter — a true born king of men."