sad poem

burly, dozing humble-bee
here lies a most beautiful lady
for these white arms about my neck
a poet, having taken the bridle off his tongue
to some the fat gods
the rain was over, and the brilliant air
last night the full moon laid a cloth of white
which i wish to remark
i heard the wind all day
high-born race
she must go back, she said
why do you always stand there shivering
a bird sang
there is a city, builded by no hand