Сара Тисдейл (Sara Teasdale)

Lost Things

  Oh, I could let the world go by,
   Its loud new wonders and its wars,
  But how will I give up the sky
   When winter dusk is set with stars?

  And I could let the cities go,
   Their changing customs and their creeds,—
  But oh, the summer rains that blow
   In silver on the jewel-weeds!