Classic Poem

Last night, when the pale, sweet moonlight lay
Like a halo over the sleeping world,
And the skies above grew soft and gray
And the weary banners of toil were furled,
She stood at my side as she used to stand
In that summer sweet when I saw her last,
And I thought I felt the touch of her hand,
And said, “'Tis the moonlight over the land
That opens the door of the Past.”