short love poem

storm
for i was a gaunt, grave councillor
in september
for these white arms about my neck
shadows lay along broadway
sadly speaking
suddenly, out of dark and leafy ways
pushing out, struggling vainly
i saw you hunched and shivering on the stones
up from the meadows rich with corn
o fair and stately maid, whose eyes
and as we walked the grass was faintly stirred
what do i owe to you