Sara Teasdale

THE LITTLE park was filled with peace,

The walks were carpeted with snow,

But every iron gate was locked,

Lest, if we entered, peace should go.

We circled it a dozen times,

The wind was blowing from the sea,

I only felt your restless eyes

Whose love was like a cloak for me.

Oh heavy gates that fate has locked

To bar the joy we may not win,

Peace would go out forevermore

If we should dare to enter in.