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daughter poem

tell me not
listen
royal feast was done
i saw the archangels in my apple-tree last night
rising moon has hid the stars
but i cannot read you now
lived by the river-side
still thirteen years
in an old chamber softly lit
why then, must we see?
lo! 'tis a gala night
i despise my friends more than you
to the passionate lover
in the dark and peace of my final bed

 



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