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POEMS OF EMILY BRONTË
239
I feel and say that I am cast
From hope, and peace, and power, and pride—
A withered leaf on Autumn blast;
A shattered wreck on ocean's tide,
Without a voice to speak to you
Save that deep gong which tolled my doom
And made my dread iniquity
Look darker than my deepest gloom;
Without companion save the light,
For ever present to my eye,
Of that tempestuous winter's night
That saw my angel Mary die.
