The window-lights, myriads and myriads, Bloom from the walls like climbing flowers. - Sara Teasdale

My heart is a garden tired with autumn.

Less than the cloud to the wind,
Less than the foam to the sea,
Less than the rose to the storm
Am I to thee.

More than the star to the night,
More than the rain to the tree,
More than heaven to earth
Art thou to me.

Let it be you who lean above me
On my last day,
Let it be you who shut my eyelids
Forever and aye.

Say a 'Good-night' as you have said it
All of these years,
With the old look, with the old whisper
All without tears.

You will know then all that in silence
You always knew,
Though I have loved, I loved no other
As I love you.