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POEMS OF EMILY BRONTË
LII
A SERENADE
Thy Guardians are asleep,
So I'm come to bid thee rise;
Thou hast a holy vow to keep,
Ere yon crescent quit the skies.
Though clouds careering wide
Will hardly let her gleam,
She's bright enough to be our guide
Across the mountain stream.
O waken, dearest, wake!
What means this long delay?
Say, wilt thou not for true love's sake
Chase idol fears away?
Think not of future grief
Entailed on present joy;
An age of woe were only brief
Its memory to destroy.
And neither Hell nor Heaven,
Though both conspire at last,
Can take the bliss that has been given,
Can rob us of the past.
