fall poetry

somewhere i read a strange, old, rusty tale
be in me as the eternal moods
above them all, looking down
daughter, thou art come to die
her face is fair and smooth and fine
the agony of having too much power
star-dust and vaporous light
last midnight
out of me unworthy and unknown
i went up and down the streets
where shall i find you
the little pitiful, worn, laughing faces
you are beautiful and faded
dear wife