fall poem

i am weary of being bitter and weary of being wise
in an old chamber softly lit
did you ever see an alligator
there are three ways in which men take
days endeared to every muse
out of the deep and the dark
listen to the sounding sea
over the rooftops race the shadows of clouds
when i was a boy at college
in his guarded tent
perhaps it is no matter that you died
she might have known it in the earlier spring
in their ragged regimentals