The Leaden Skies To-Night My Love They Frown Poem by Emmanuel George Cefai

The leaden skies to-night my love they frown
The wind neighs slowly to the frosted panes
The rain thinks it is merciful not to pour:
And all that’s lit in our room’s the lamp.

How destitute the dome of heaven shines
With its bleak mirage night-dreaming
Cruel repressive dour and thin and taut
And all that’s lit in our room’s the lamp.

The seas a strange unwanted silence keep
The tree-leaves rustle not as if
Struck by some guilt or sudden meteor:
All that’s lit in our room’s the lamp.