Tree at my Window by Robert Frost
My sash is lowered when night comes on;
But let there never be curtain drawn
Between you and me.
And thing next most diffuse to cloud,
Not all your light tongues talking aloud
Could be profound.
And if you have seen me when I slept,
You have seen me when I was taken and swept
And all but lost.
Fate had her imagination about her,
Your head so much concerned with outer,
Mine with inner, weather.