COME, when the pale moon like a petal
    Floats in the pearly dusk of spring,
    Come with outstretched arms 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.

    Sara Teasdale