Under the harvest moon,
When the soft silver
Drips shimmering
Over the garden nights,
Death, the gray mocker,
Comes and whispers to you
As a beautiful friend
Who remembers.

     Under the summer roses
When the flagrant crimson
Lurks in the dusk
Of the wild red leaves,
Love, with little hands,
Comes and touches you
With a thousand memories,
And asks you
Beautiful, unanswerable questions.

Added: on August 4th, 2005 at 1:05 AM | Viewed: 5397 times | Comments (2)

Poet: Carl Sandburg
Poem: 2. Under the Harvest Moon
Volume: Chicago Poems
- Fogs and Fires

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