type of poetry

up from the south at break of day
blossoms of babies
why then, must we see?
we who stood
a gleam of gold in gloom and gray
i am fevered
to the passionate lover
the pale day drowses on the western steep
look out upon the stars, my love
my soul goes clad in gorgeous things
come down at dawn from windless hills
i walk down the garden paths
the lightning flashed, and lifted
if the red slayer think he slays