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POEMS OF EMILY BRONTË
LXV
And first an hour of mournful musing,
And then a gush of bitter tears;
And then a dreary calm diffusing
Its deadly mist o'er joys and cares.
And then a throb and then a lightening,
And then a wakening from above;
And then a star in heaven brightening
The star, the glorious star of love.
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Wind, sink to rest in the heather,
Thy wild voice suits not me;
I would have dreary weather,
But all devoid of thee.
Sun set from that evening heaven,
Thy glad smile wins not mine;
If light at all is given,
O give me Cynthia's shine!
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Long neglect has worn away
Half the sweet, the haunting smile;
Time has turned the bloom to grey,
Mould and damp the face defile.
