Page:The complete poems of Emily Bronte.djvu/239

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POEMS OF EMILY BRONTË

But if to weep above her grave  Be such a priceless boon, Go, shed thy tears in Ocean's wave  And they will reach it soon. Yet midst thy wild repining,  Mad though that anguish be, Think heaven on her is shining  Even as it shines on thee. With thy mind's vision pierce the deep,  Look now she rests below, And tell me, why such blessed sleep  Should cause such bitter woe? May 1, 1843.