In a Park

When all the city is a mist of jewel-spangled dark,
When day is over, and the night goes by on stealthy feet;
When traffic sounds seem strangely soft—the distance makes them sweet—
We sit together, you and I, two shadows in the park.

Sometimes we talk and plan a bit, sometimes our fingers touch,
And whisper dear remembered things we are too shy to say;
And then it is that all the world seems centuries away,
And then it is that nothing hurts, and nothing matters—much.

The disappointments we have known, the wasted lonely hours,
The hopes that died too soon, the words that might have gone unsaid,
The dreams that were such fragile things, the happiness that fled,
And these are nothing … for the breeze has crept past drowsy flowers.

Dim people pass us in the dusk, slow walking close together,
A great clock strikes, but mellowly, across the city squares;
And oh, your hand is tight on mine—and no one knows or cares—
For lovers always are a part of June's enchanted weather.
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