autumn poem

the hypocritic days
let us pity those who are better off than we are
if i had known how narrow a prison is love
sad are they who know not love
a mile behind
she limps with halting painful pace
my mother twines me roses wet with dew
the meadow was creeping
the ships are lying in the bay
one sweetly solemn thought
master of human destinies am i
i stood by the open casement
up from the meadows rich with corn