Fog at Prospect Terrace


"What a silver night!

That was our bench the time you said to me

The long new poem -- but how different now,

How eerie with the curtain of the fog

Making it strange to all the friendly trees!

There is no wind, and yet great curving scrolls

Carve themselves, ever changing, in the mist."

~Sara Teasdale (1884-1914)