short friendship poem

were it not for that singular smell
as i lie roofed in, screened in
over the river, on the hill
all within and all without me
i stood by the open casement
as evening falls
to what shall a woman liken her beloved
for i was a gaunt, grave councillor
why are the things that have no death
muffled drum's sad roll has beat
she has a clear, wind-sheltered loveliness
i am fevered