a villa with few rooms <br />rustic to the root and core <br />will I perching over a hill <br />want where the cool autumn comes to rest itself <br /> <br />and <br />where the cool autumn comes to rest itself <br />a fragrance strange abounds hangs all around <br />the air is wholesome like baking bread <br />or mutton or pudding: <br />the heart pumps blood serene <br />hate flees away invisible <br />and there is happiness <br /> <br />and <br />though the cool autumn comes to rest itself <br />in this agreeable place and home <br />yet <br />some-time yearn I too <br />for a long winter full of drizzling rain <br />morning and afternoon <br />then as the red dusk sets <br />thunder and lightning’s long fingers <br />over the hills above the village small <br />can I see, I want to see <br />from the casement as rain half-blinds <br />half-obstacles the view. <br /> <br />And then <br />The chill of the thunder-clap <br />The thrill in every marrow <br />I want to feel <br />And feeling this I feel <br />The richest and the happiest in this world. <br /> <br />Awhile the cool autumn cometh to rest itself.<br /><br />Emmanuel George Cefai<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-villa-with-few-rooms/
