birthday poetry

her face is fair and smooth and fine
she might have known it in the earlier spring
the saddest of the year
for i was a gaunt, grave councillor
night was black and drear
good woman
short and sweet, and we've come to the end of it
be not false
looking beyond
i've won the race
why do you always stand there shivering
the ships are lying in the bay
we were not many
a gleam of gold in gloom and gray