romantic love poem

babylon-where i go dreaming
it tells of good old times
this is the arsenal
come down at dawn from windless hills
perhaps it is no matter that you died
and how could you dream of meeting
those on the top say they know you, earth-they are liars
i flung my soul to the air like a falcon flying
sleep sweetly in your humble graves
beneath my window in a city street
with lips blood red and heart of stone
in their ragged regimentals