OCR Text |
Show TOURIST'S EYE-VIEW OF AMERICA - Page 4 the tales you might have spun or a tussle on the floor with a little son. Heavy-lidded eyes droop shadow of a tender grey beneath the lashes of eyes that tell of dreaming on a corn husk matress back in Kentucky. Memorial in cold, hard stone, you hold a lengthening reach beyond the hills that runs down a wilderness in linsey-woolsey shirt, coonskin cap, bearskin mocassins, Indian silent on the forest floor. You told us once, "I went to school by littles." We know you split your rails, rode a circuit on old Buck, your horse, out of Illinois, then changed your cap for high-top hat. A copper Lincoln penny warms my hand. Now I hold you small, But, Mr. Lincoln, you are tall. IV. THE CAPITOL White dome rising cameo-like - high moment of the miracle of our nation. |