thanksgiving poem

let me move slowly through the street
let me be sad
a poet, having taken the bridle off his tongue
i stood by the open casement
therefore i may not
i had a dream and i awoke with it
see, from this counterfeit of him
what do i owe to you
do not turn your head
what spiteful chance steals unawares
when a deed is done for freedom
the shadows of the ships
out of the window a sea of green trees
high-born race