Page:All quiet along the Potomac and other poems.djvu/63

Rh  But the soul chants on what it needs must say, In its rhythm rude, in its freeborn way, Underneath the snow.





N the arm-chair in the corner, Half content and wholly still, Sat I, weaving idle fancies, As a rhyming dreamer will Setting them to sombre rhythm As the housewife, calm and sweet, Trod the round of daily duties With her brave, unfalt'ring feet.

Timidly a basement-beggar Knocked and asked for warmth and bread Then along the stair and passage Went the patient, steady tread. Then I guessed the wistful glances Bent upon the little lad; Well I knew the fresh remembrance On the face so fair and sad.

Out of this there grew a vision Opposite my easy-chair, Made by idle brain and sunshine, Crossed with threads of daily care. 