Page:Poems by Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell (Charlotte, Emily and Anne Brontë, 1846).djvu/37

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HOME.


'Tis but the frost that clears the air,
And gives the sky that lovely blue;
They're smiling in a winter's sun,
Those evergreens of sombre hue.


And winter's chill is on my heart—
How can I dream of future bliss?
How can my spirit soar away,
Confined by such a chain as this?

Acton.



HOME.

How brightly glistening in the sun
 The woodland ivy plays!
While yonder beeches from their barks
 Reflect his silver rays.


That sun surveys a lovely scene
 From softly smiling skies;
And wildly through unnumbered trees
 The wind of winter sighs:


Now loud, it thunders o'er my head,
 And now in distance dies.
But give me back my barren hills
 Where colder breezes rise;