poetry site

often i think of the beautiful town
out of the deep and the dark
three days i heard them grieve when i lay dead
i have to say good-night
up from the south at break of day
splendid and terrible your love
do the boys and girls still go
he'd even have his joke
shines the last age, the next with hope is seen
melancholy, blue it was
perhaps it is no matter that you died
just as my fingers on these keys
as a white candle
all quiet along the potomac