pumpkin poem

the rain was over, and the brilliant air
the long resounding marble corridors
skies they were ashen and sober
i have heard them in the night
let us express our baser passions
it is true that you say the gods are more use to you than fairies
i said
earth travails
sweet with fern and rose
in mournful numbers
though love repine, and reason chafe
be not false
gone are the three, those sisters rare
all down the years