by: Emily Brontë (1818-1848)

      OW clear she shines! How quietly
      I lie beneath her guardian light;
      While heaven and earth are whispering me,
      "To morrow, wake, but dream to-night."
      Yes, Fancy, come, my Fairy love!
      These throbbing temples softly kiss;
      And bend my lonely couch above,
      And bring me rest, and bring me bliss.
      The world is going; dark world, adieu!
      Grim world, conceal thee till the day;
      The heart thou canst not all subdue
      Must still resist, if thou delay!
      Thy love I will not, will not share;
      Thy hatred only wakes a smile;
      Thy griefs may wound--thy wrongs may tear,
      But, oh, thy lies shall ne'er beguile!
      While gazing on the stars that glow
      Above me, in that stormless sea,
      I long to hope that all the woe
      Creation knows, is held in thee!
      And this shall be my dream to-night;
      I'll think the heaven of glorious spheres
      Is rolling on its course of light
      In endless bliss, through endless years;
      I'll think, there's not one world above,
      Far as these straining eyes can see,
      Where Wisdom ever laughed at Love,
      Or Virtue crouched to Infamy;
      Where, writhing 'neath the strokes of Fate,
      The mangled wretch was forced to smile;
      To match his patience 'gainst her hate,
      His heart rebellious all the while.
      Where Pleasure still will lead to wrong,
      And helpless Reason warn in vain;
      And Truth is weak, and Treachery strong;
      And Joy the surest path to Pain;
      And Peace, the lethargy of Grief;
      And Hope, a phantom of the soul;
      And life, a labour, void and brief;
      And Death, the despot of the whole!




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