poetry poem

do you think, my boy, when i put my arms around you
world that changes under my hand
with lips blood red and heart of stone
it tells of good old times
as it
like him whose spirit in the blaze of noon
she has a clear, wind-sheltered loveliness
they in the darkness gather and ask
two rows of cabbages
over the river, on the hill
among the smoke and fog of a december afternoon
the endless, foolish merriment of stars
among the mountains i wandered
the stars fell from heaven