This page has been validated.
POEMS OF EMILY BRONTË
233
V
Oh, all the cares these noontide airs
Might seem to drive away,
So glad and bright each sight appears,
Each sound so soft and gay;
And through the shade of yonder glade,
Where thick the leaves are dancing,
While jewels rare and flow'rets rare
A hundred plumes are glancing.
For there the palace portals rise
Beyond its myrtle grove,
Catching the whitest, brightest dyes
From the deep blue dome above.
But has this little lonely spot,
No place among its trees,
By all unknown, by all forgot,
Save sunshine and the breeze?
