Page:The complete poems of Emily Bronte.djvu/354

This page has been proofread, but needs to be validated.

298

POEMS OF EMILY BRONTË

XLIX

May flowers are opening,  And leaves unfolding free; There are bees in every blossom,  And birds on every tree. The sun is gladly shining,  The stream sings merrily; And lonely I am pining,  And all is dark to me. O cold, cold is my heart!  It will not, cannot rise; It feels no sympathy  With those refulgent skies. Dead, dead is my joy,  I long to be at rest; I wish the damp earth covered  This desolated breast. If I were quite alone,  It might not be so drear, When all hope was gone;  At least I could not fear. But the glad eyes around me  Must weep as mine have done, And I must see the final gloom  Eclipse their morning sun.