dark poetry

how like the stars are these white, nameless faces
lived by the river-side
long ago, in the young moonlight
daughter, thou art come to die
the darkness steals the forms of all the queens
they threw a stone, you threw a stone
she heard the children playing in the sun
for these white arms about my neck
i saw him once before
still thirteen years
rocked in the cradle of the deep
her face is fair and smooth and fine
beneath the warrior's helm