Night Has Come Under The Trees Poem by Emmanuel George Cefai

Night has come under the
Trees
Waiting
Waiting nervous and
Impatient
His love for to-night
The moon.

Below
Below the bastions
Lengthen their shadows
To black cloths
Of mourning funereal
Since
The red dusk
Flourished over the port

The water stiff
Lawyers of the open port
Sit still and mute
Furrowed by the silver
Linearity of the moon’s
Light.

Nocturnal a bell
Rings
In Fort Saint Angelo:
But ah!
The service be
Only
Only for the locale
Ghosts and shrouds.

Yet in the night
The skies trembled
Tremble
With the halo stars
That peep and manifest
Their angst nocturnal
To the hidden breeze
Of wild Aeolus.

From the sparse caves
The siren hoots
Flourish
And echo around the port
Only
For ears of fairies
Nymphs and
Inhabitants general of the night
And Poet Seers.

Kronos stits on a wall
Of rubble dilapidated
From the fort of old
Old, old Saint Angelo:
Mourning the centuries
That went.

For what you did
Is stifled:
That is the foot print
Of the grave
The tomb:
Whatever you did
And were or else
Stifled silent and
Mute under the moss
Of stones that sweat
With magic mists of night.

The Sphinx is restless:
But even she
Yet even She
Is here hidden well
Behind a well of wishes
In the fort down
Down
Abysmal to the depths of
The port sea.
‘Tele, tele, tele.’
Said the old hag.
And it was night
And dawn asleep
Was far
Far from blessing earth
Hours had to pass
For yet another dawn
And stars to fall
Sudden and white faced to the sea.