Broad-streeted Richmond . . . The trees in the streets are old trees used to living with people, Family trees that remember your grandfather's name.

I have fallen in love with American names, the sharp, gaunt names that never get fat.

Remember that when you say "I will have non of this exile and this stranger for his face is not like my face and his speech is strange," you have denied America with that word.

I died in my boots like a pioneer With the whole wide sky above me.

We thought, because we had power, we had wisdom.

When Daniel Boone goes by at night The phantom deer arise And all lost, wild America Is burning in their eyes.

You can take off your hats now, gentlemen, and I think perhaps you'd better.