Page:All quiet along the Potomac and other poems.djvu/86

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Shall I falter on my pathway Never more as I do now? Tell me then, O elfin legend, Where to gather, when, and how.

Must I go for it at midnight, When the witches gather fast? Must I walk alone, and backward, Till the mystic leaf is passed?

Tell me, for I grow aweary, On the pathway of my life— Weary of its sombre shadows, Weary of its aimless strife.

And I falter, fearful often; Tell me, legend, witch, or fay, How to gather the St. John's wort, So I faint not by the way.





HERE'S a strangely solemn moment When, outside the tent of sleep, We lay out beyond its circle, All we love for God to keep.

Then, before the doorway waiting, Must we bid a day good-bye, 