by Sara Teasedale
Come, when the pale moon like a petal
   Floats in the pearly dusk of spring,
Come with arms outstretched to take me,
   Come with lips pursed up to cling.
Come, for life is a frail moth flying
   Caught in the web of the years that pass,
And soon we two, so warm and eager
   Will be as the gray stones in the grass.


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