How Yearn I For A Quiet House Poem by Emmanuel George Cefai

How yearn I for a quiet house
Buried amidst the hills
Green with ever-lasting shrubbery
In a soft land:
And the sweet scent
That distant pines
Aloft on the air send.

How meek and sad
The flowers thrust
Their petal-crowned heads into the wind
That winnows and plays lazily:
How meek and sad.

And in the distant lake
The lapping waves I hear
Humming along the wire like electricity
Transported on sound waves
The water waves from distance
Thus transformed as Greek gods of old
Of ancient days.

And straight before
The lone and linear plain
Unending to the horizon stands
As if with it locked
In ever-lasting embrace
The embrace of heaven and earth
That will not let go:

And on the long, long plain
The sheated gold of seeds
Full with the gladness of rural bounty
Where rural gods unseen do seem to pass.

A bird flies along the skies – and chirps