Page:All quiet along the Potomac and other poems.djvu/70

64 And shivers as the harvest-moon The first sad cycle closes.

A year-old sorrow! Still it lives, Moaning at midnight waking; It wanders through the twilight gloom, And weeps with daylight breaking.

It echoes in each boyish voice With strange, pathetic quiver Such echo as the rock gives back That stands across the river.

It clutches at the empty palm That misses childish fingers; It listens for a coming step, And wonders why it lingers.

A year-old sorrow! God knows best How years, their round completing, Shall hurry on, till by and by Shall come that wondrous meeting,

When Sorrow's robe, all stained with tears, Tattered and soiled and hoary, Shall flutter off before the breath That bursts the gate of Glory;

And Shining Ones shall tell us then That pilgrim robe and fetter Have purer kept the heavenly dress, Its brightness guarded better.