Page:All quiet along the Potomac and other poems.djvu/113

Rh 'Twas the wistful petition Of childish saint, going Across the dark river What wonder tis growing!

DID not know her yesterday, This gentle friend of mine; There was no niche unfilled, I thought, Within this heart of mine.

To-day I know her; songs of mine Have spoken for me while unseen, Stretching like spider lines wind-blown Our severed selves between.

When I have done my best she knew; When I have failed she cared, Looking beyond the ink-clogged pen, My unbreathed trials shared.

Ah ! through this living type I guess How vanished ones may keep Some busy distaff s subtle thread Unbroken, tho I sleep.

And still I gladder grow to think Some souls I do not know As yet may meet me by and by, And, loving me, yet tell me so.