romantic poem

my true love from her pillow rose
just as my fingers on these keys
i flung my soul to the air like a falcon flying
the child who threw away leaf after leaf
in new york harbor
little gate was reached at last
the pale day drowses on the western steep
i think it just splendid
to the passionate lover
o fair and stately maid, whose eyes
i saw the archangels in my apple-tree last night
see, from this counterfeit of him
why do
i have had one fear in my life