autumn poem

tell me less or tell me more
look out upon the stars, my love
perhaps it is no matter that you died
pharaoh, king of egypt's land
muffled drum's sad roll has beat
the shadows of the ships
there is an hour of peaceful rest
the poets tell
softly weeping
in their ragged regimentals
backward, turn backward
i had over-prepared the event
she limps with halting painful pace
in mournful numbers