poetry form

i know what you're going to say
awful truths these be
be not false
babylon-where i go dreaming
when i looked into your eyes
to come so soon to this imagined dark
and how could you dream of meeting
now that i have cooled to you
my mother twines me roses wet with dew
the arches of the red bridge
melancholy days have come
green afternoon serene and bright
stay no more