When I Was Small, A Woman Died. To-Day Her Only Boy Went Up From The Potomac, His Face All Victory, To Look At Her; How Slowly The Seasons Must Have Turned Till Bullets Clipt An Angle, And He Passed Quickly Round! If Pride Shall Be In Paradise I Never Can Decide; Of Their Imperial Conduct, No Person Testified. But Proud In Apparition, That Woman And Her Boy Pass Back And Forth Before My Brain, As Ever In The Sky.