Malade - Free Audiobook

AT THE WINDOW

THE pine-trees bend to listen to the autumn wind
         as it mutters
     Something which sets the black poplars ashake with
         hysterical laughter;
     While slowly the house of day is closing its eastern
         shutters.

     Further down the valley the clustered tombstones
         recede,
     Winding about their dimness the mist's grey
         cerements, after
     The street lamps in the darkness have suddenly
         started to bleed.

     The leaves fly over the window and utter a word as
         they pass
     To the face that leans from the darkness, intent, with
         two dark-filled eyes
     That watch for ever earnestly from behind the window
         glass.