happy birthday poem

three days i heard them grieve when i lay dead
night was black and drear
little gate was reached at last
for these white arms about my neck
there is no flock, however watched and tended
to clothe the fiery thought
my soul is a dark ploughed field
are you alive?
by the rude bridge
like him whose spirit in the blaze of noon
before the solemn bronze saint
did you ever hear of
passing through huddled and ugly walls