elements of poetry

with her hair flaying wildly
i saw god. do you doubt it?
you say you love me
i stood
it was the autumn of the year
for i was a gaunt, grave councillor
my true love from her pillow rose
to clothe the fiery thought
perhaps it is no matter that you died
darkest, strangest mystery
daughter, thou art come to die
love me at last, or if you will not
now for a brisk and cheerful fight
among the smoke and fog of a december afternoon