suicide poetry

woman much missed, how you call to me, call to me
o fair and stately maid, whose eyes
quietly, with reverance, in awe
i have come into the desert because my soul is athirst
now that i have cooled to you
before the solemn bronze saint
earth travails
shades of night were falling fast
shines the last age, the next with hope is seen
you are clear
beneath my window in a city street
i think it just splendid
in your arms was still delight