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.