Page:The complete poems of Emily Bronte.djvu/217

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XLIV

If grief for grief can touch thee,
If answering woe for woe,
If any ruth can melt thee,
Come to me now!


I cannot be more lonely,
More drear I cannot be!
My worn heart throbs so wildly
'Twill break for thee.


And when the world despises,
When Heaven repels my prayer,
Will not mine angel comfort?
Mine idol hear?


Yes, by the tears I've poured,
By all my hours of pain,
O I shall surely win thee,
Beloved, again.

May 18, 1840.