"Out-worn heart, in a time out-worn, Come clear of the nets of wrong and right; Laugh, heart, again in the grey twilight, Sigh, heart, again in the dew of the morn."

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All quiet along the Potomac tonight, no sound save the rush of the river, while soft falls the dew on the face of the dead, the picket's off duty forever.

— Ethel Lynn Beers