love friendship poem

under dusky laurel leaf
tell me not
doubtless i remember still
my mother taught me that every night
we lay
old wine to drink
a little peach in the orchard grew
love me at last, or if you will not
a blue-black nubian plucking oranges
weak-winged is song
night is dark, and the winter winds
perhaps
the rain was over, and the brilliant air
in their ragged regimentals