memorial poem

my soul goes clad in gorgeous things
daughter, thou art come to die
do i like it
he came and took me by the hand
a look is but a ray
on and on
night is dark, and the winter winds
melancholy days have come
i shake my hair in the wind of morning
still thirteen years
backward, turn backward
along a river-side
i love my hour of wind and light
there is a city, builded by no hand