romantic poetry

rocked in the cradle of the deep
come down at dawn from windless hills
in mournful numbers
often is it not so?
i stood by the open casement
the stars fell from heaven
once this soft turf
let a joy keep you
there's one that i once loved so much
in their ragged regimentals
beside a stricken field
i know not where
it was a tall young oysterman
the arches of the red bridge