modern poetry

sleep, gray brother of death
mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam
at dawn, he said
and with the humming bird
the body may confine
i saw god. do you doubt it?
are you alive?
her face is fair and smooth and fine
soft as the bed in the earth
in his guarded tent
my soul is a dark ploughed field
i gazed upon the glorious sky
a bird sang
lo! 'tis a gala night