poetry poem

love me at last, or if you will not
gone before us
just as my fingers on these keys
in the sphere
long ago, in the young moonlight
doubtless i remember still
when i looked into your eyes
when you come tonight
through the broad earth's aching breast
shades of night were falling fast
as i lie roofed in, screened in
i never knew the earth had so much gold
she heard the children playing in the sun