Under the Harvest Moon

Carl Sandburg

      Under the harvest moon,
      When the soft silver
      Drips shimmering
      Over 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.