romantic love poems

within this lowly grave a conqueror lies
my mother taught me that every night
softly weeping
out of me unworthy and unknown
in an old chamber softly lit
lo! 'tis a gala night
and so it goes
up from the south at break of day
i saw the clouds among the hills
winged shadows sweeping by
stuff of the moon
i saw you hunched and shivering on the stones
quietly, with reverance, in awe