type of poem

like him whose spirit in the blaze of noon
last midnight
since i have felt the sense of death
how wild, how witch-like weird that life should be
the air is full of dawn and spring
it tells of good old times
let us pity those who are better off than we are
in your arms was still delight
when the hours of day are numbered
three years ago today
with the sunset
along the banks
have you not heard