def poetry

sweet with fern and rose
what was it the engines said
my mother twines me roses wet with dew
the lightning flashed, and lifted
brief on a flying night
what do i owe to you
glooms of the live-oaks
it is true that you say the gods are more use to you than fairies
in all things not spoken of
of sun nor stars
woman much missed, how you call to me, call to me
the long resounding marble corridors
with the meek, brown eyes