gothic poetry

there is a country full of wine
out of the sparkling sea
up from the south at break of day
we who stood
there was never a sound beside the wood but one
the stars fell from heaven
some one complained to the master
very well, you liberals
he speaks not well
have you seen walking through the village
sun and wind and beat of sea
i saw the archangels in my apple-tree last night
into the silent land