death poem

melancholy, blue it was
i gazed upon the glorious sky
where shall i find you
they threw a stone, you threw a stone
had he and i but met
a little peach in the orchard grew
he came and took me by the hand
she has a clear, wind-sheltered loveliness
who will be naming the wind
o fair and stately maid, whose eyes
before the solemn bronze saint
the stars fell from heaven
i make my shroud, but no one knows