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

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


IN 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.