sad death poem

a look is but a ray
never in all my life
muffled drum's sad roll has beat
a poet, having taken the bridle off his tongue
since i have felt the sense of death
a little peach in the orchard grew
i said
now for a brisk and cheerful fight
a thin gray shadow on the edge of thought
high-born race
for these white arms about my neck
a few more windy days
lived by the river-side
beneath my window in a city street