gothic poetry

i gazed upon the glorious sky
i have cast the world
my mother twines me roses wet with dew
up to her chamber window
there's one that i once loved so much
she must go back, she said
by the shore, by the sea
uplifting, as the wind blew
the little white prayers
i've won the race
to some the fat gods
it is true that you say the gods are more use to you than fairies
do not grieve that it is over