sad poetry

the pale day drowses on the western steep
the darkness rolls upward
i despise my friends more than you
dear wife
mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam
there's one that i once loved so much
fat black bucks in a wine-barrel room
the meadow was creeping
muffled drum's sad roll has beat
gone before us
daughter, thou art come to die
if i were very sure
the earth keeps some vibration going