I have fallen in love with American names The sharp names that never get fat, The snakeskin titles of mining claims, The plumed war bonnet of Medicine Hat, Tucson and Deadwood and Lost Mule Flat.
Stonewall Jackson, wrapped in his beard and his silence.
Books are not men and yet they stay alive.
When Daniel Boone goes by at night The phantom deer arise And all lost, wild America Is burning in their eyes.
I died in my boots like a pioneer With the whole wide sky above me.
Our fathers and ourselves sowed dragon's teeth. Our children know and suffer the armed men.
Even the damned may salute the eloquence of Mr. Webster.
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