autumn poem

the ships are lying in the bay
in the dark and peace of my final bed
fat black bucks in a wine-barrel room
music i heard with you was more than music
i walk down the garden paths
it was many and many a year ago
just as my fingers on these keys
i despise my friends more than you
doubtless i remember still
in the cloud-gray mornings
to some the fat gods
day is done
stern cold man
o fair and stately maid, whose eyes