sympathy poem

i saw the archangels in my apple-tree last night
dear wife
they threw a stone, you threw a stone
how wild, how witch-like weird that life should be
they in the darkness gather and ask
these be
burly, dozing humble-bee
come down at dawn from windless hills
o fair and stately maid, whose eyes
the smell of the rose so false, the thorns so true
awful truths these be
long ago, in the young moonlight
and with the humming bird