The vine leaves against the brick walls of my house,
Are rusty and broken.
Dead leaves gather under the pine-trees,
The brittle boughs of lilac-bushes
Sweep against the stars.
And I sit under a lamp
Trying to write down the emptiness of my heart.
Even the cat will not stay with me,
But prefers the rain
Under the meagre shelter of a cellar window.
November
Amy Lowell
(3)
Poem topics: cat, heart, house, rain, write, stay, lamp, broken, window, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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