I knew you thought of me all night, I knew, though you were far away; I felt your love blow over me As if a dark wind-riven sea Drenched me with quivering spray. There are so many ways to love And each way has its own delight, Then be content to come to me Only as spray the beating sea Drives inland through the night.
Return to the Sara Teasdale library , or . . . Read the next poem; Spring In War Time