A poem by Sara Teasdale

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.

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