I keep my fashion as Lady Godey;
my family, aristocratic, lean
and with my many suitors, life is gay
but Lincoln’s borrowed horse not what they dream.
My people pray he is a fading fad;
no life or love with Abraham they deem.
And all historians who cast me ‘mad’;
their hatefulness a jealous motive seem.
The one great truth through all our misery:
a melancholia treads through our past
and not with lies of Herndon’s history.
With love was Mr. Lincoln and I cast.
I cry from out my grave so all may hear:
we are a pair, devout; to each, hold dear!