anniversary poem

when the hours of day are numbered
i despise my friends more than you
as a naked man i go
i see all human wits
in all things not spoken of
what was it the engines said
musing, between the sunset and the dark
have you not heard
in an old chamber softly lit
and how could you dream of meeting
their beautiful hair
who will be naming the wind
o fair and stately maid, whose eyes
come down at dawn from windless hills