i love you poem

beside a stricken field
the endless, foolish merriment of stars
the saddest of the year
uplifting, as the wind blew
did you ever hear of
tripping up, falling down
of sun nor stars
a sky that has never known sun, moon or stars
it tells of good old times
love me at last, or if you will not
the pale day drowses on the western steep
there was never a sound beside the wood but one
out of me unworthy and unknown
grieve not for the invisible