When cares of state bore down too heavily He found her side and whispered, "Let's go home". He never liked the White House, though it be The corollary of that golden dome, The Capitol, arena of the fight Where progress ... retrogression, lance to lance, Each claims himself the champion of the right. A man unmoved by pomp or circumstance, Of quiet humor, gentle ways and slow, With red-brown hair, warm color, hazel eyes ... A nodded "yes" ... a clipped and trenchant "no". His slightest word seemed weighty, pondered, wise. And yet ... he "did not choose to run" again Weary of being all things to all men. |