free poetry

when the wind works against us in the dark
three days i heard them grieve when i lay dead
the pale day drowses on the western steep
out of the window a sea of green trees
if it
a thin gray shadow on the edge of thought
the dawn was apple-green
wheel me down by the meadow
very well, you liberals
if the red slayer think he slays
come down at dawn from windless hills
to some the fat gods
have you not heard