teacher poem

i fill this cup
to be able to see every side of every question
come down at dawn from windless hills
the body may confine
up from the south at break of day
do you think, my boy, when i put my arms around you
i walk down the garden paths
birds against the april wind
all within and all without me
and breaketh bread no more
from song and dream for ever gone
days endeared to every muse
why do
i have to say good-night