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

(Carl Sandburg)