Page:All quiet along the Potomac and other poems.djvu/295

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Shall the vine, reaching upward no longer,

To the plane of the oak never rise, Catching now by the blossoming bramble ?

Is it true? Being true, is it wise?

I whisper no word of such musing,

I say pretty words of the ring, Hoping Love hath some infinite wisdom

To answer my heart s questioning.


" TT is better so." Twas a woman s moan, 1 Full of stifled tears. Where the lamplight


Through a vine-clad window, its ruddy glare Made a lane of light in the sweet dark air, For the rose that laughed in the sun all day Dewy-laden hung in the yellow ray, Where the tall white lilies shone out like stars, And the very gate seemed of golden bars.

Weary, weak, and wan, like a hopeless shade, Starting oft, as though of the winds afraid, Like a spectre born of the solemn Night, A woman stood in the lane of light. Her unfastened hair in the dew-fall shone, And her face was set like a face of stone, As she muttered o er, turning still to go, "It is better, darling yes, better so."

25 T

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