good bye poem

when i was broke in london
as it
the air is like a butterfly
stir
o fair and stately maid, whose eyes
did you ever hear of
from floor to ceiling
the long resounding marble corridors
they may talk of love in a cottage
my mother twines me roses wet with dew
my true love from her pillow rose
i sometimes wonder if it's really true
a gleam of gold in gloom and gray