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.