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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=529141" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>By the Potomac</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=529141" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">The soft new grass is creeping o'er the graves <br>By the Potomac; and the crisp ground-flower <br>Tilts its blue cup to catch the passing shower; <br>The pine-cone ripens, and the long moss waves <br>Its tangled gonfalons above our braves. <br>Hark, what a burst of music from yon bower! -- <br>The Southern nightingale that hour by hour <br>In its melodious summer madness raves. <br>Ah, with what delicate touches of her hand, <br>With what sweet voice of bird and rivulet <br>And drowsy murmur of the rustling leaf <br>Would Nature soothe us, bidding us forget <br>The awful crime of this distracted land <br>And all our heavy heritage of grief.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Thomas+Bailey+Aldrich">Thomas Bailey Aldrich</a></strong></div>

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