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POEMS OF EMILY BRONTË
133
XXIX
O dream, where art thou now?
Long years have passed away
Since cast from off thine angel brow
I saw the light decay.
Alas! alas for me!
Thou wert so bright and fair,
I could not think thy memory
Would yield me nought but care!
The moonbeam and the storm,
The summer eve divine,
The silent night of solemn calm,
The full moon's cloudless shine,
Were once entwined with thee,
But now with weary pain.
Lost vision! 'tis enough for me
Thou canst not shine again.
November 3, 1838.
