daughter poem

i loathed you
made up of loveliness alone
the darkness steals the forms of all the queens
i have cast the world
high-born race
i have heard that a certain princess
the meadow was creeping
there is no flock, however watched and tended
the smell of the rose so false, the thorns so true
somewhere i read a strange, old, rusty tale
i can not tell you now
if i had known how narrow a prison is love
do the boys and girls still go