poetry

i have seen the proudest stars
the dawn was apple-green
it was many and many a year ago
long has the summer sunlight shone
they may talk of love in a cottage
of sun nor stars
grieve not for the invisible
softly now the light of day
daughter, thou art come to die
through the broad earth's aching breast
above them all, looking down
beautiful, tragical faces
i walk down the garden paths
if it