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POEMS OF EMILY BRONTË
141
XXXIII
TO A BLUEBELL
Sacred watcher, wave thy bells!
Fair hill flowers and woodland child,
Dear to me in deep green dells,
Dearest on the mountains wild.
Bluebell, even as all divine
I have seen my darling shine;
Bluebell, even as fair and frail
I have seen my darling fail.
Lift thy head and speak to me,
Soothing thoughts are breathed by thee.
Thus they whisper, 'Summer's sun
Lights me till my life is done;
Would I rather choose to die
Under winter's stormy sky?
Glad I bloom, and calm I fade,
Dews of heaven are round me staid
Mourner, mourner, dry thy tears,
Sorrow comes with lengthened years.'
May 7, 1839.
