good bye poem

beautiful, tragical faces
beneath my window in a city street
let us express our baser passions
the poets tell
here falls no light
in his guarded tent
the pale day drowses on the western steep
to be able to see every side of every question
i stood by the open casement
stern cold man
my mother twines me roses wet with dew
glooms of the live-oaks
like eagles on up high
i make my shroud, but no one knows