A Villa With Few Rooms

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.