Into The Night, The Winter Night Poem by Emmanuel George Cefai

Into the night, the winter night
The ghost went shuddering.


For it was cold, for it was frost
The moon was hid and from view almost lost.


Step after step, the stairs he went
Silent and with hooded head bent


As the wild wind nocturnal sang
As loud a thunder peal in distance rang.


With other ghosts and shrouds met he
Some went in to the town, some by the sea.


No one spoke to other, saluted silent
All to all, and then walked with head bent.


Ah! this world is of a level higher
Than our world much left to desire.


With punctuated histories move we
Rowdy and talk words that not high be


As talk the ghosts and shrouds in silence
Without words, and with head bent.


Shrill round the church spire the wind
Rang twisted chill and frost-unkind.


And in some houses chimneys still
Smokeless and mute in that stark chill


Trembled the fir in Hastings Garden
Hoarse passed by the night’s warden


The bat that with a muted cry
Over the dreamy houses swift he fly.


The quiet waves to rise and roar began
And in them blood of tempest ran.


Trembled the old church bells that night
Below the stars quite hidden from sight


Of some lone Poet Seer who could not sleep
And so he wandered lone and weep:


Hour after hour pass, at last of gray
The Dawn ends this beauty for a new day.