A Villa With Few Rooms Poem by Emmanuel George Cefai

a villa with few rooms
rustic to the root and core
will I perching over a hill
want where the cool autumn comes to rest itself

and
where the cool autumn comes to rest itself
a fragrance strange abounds hangs all around
the air is wholesome like baking bread
or mutton or pudding:
the heart pumps blood serene
hate flees away invisible
and there is happiness

and
though the cool autumn comes to rest itself
in this agreeable place and home
yet
some-time yearn I too
for a long winter full of drizzling rain
morning and afternoon
then as the red dusk sets
thunder and lightning’s long fingers
over the hills above the village small
can I see, I want to see
from the casement as rain half-blinds
half-obstacles the view.

And then
The chill of the thunder-clap
The thrill in every marrow
I want to feel
And feeling this I feel
The richest and the happiest in this world.

Awhile the cool autumn cometh to rest itself.