famous poetry

i have heard them in the night
those black eyes i once so praised
behold me, in my chiffon, gauze and tinsel
i shake my hair in the wind of morning
there are three ways in which men take
for then without
my mother taught me that every night
in the dark and peace of my final bed
i stand in the cold gray weather
green afternoon serene and bright
all down the years
the body may confine