Page:The complete poems of Emily Bronte.djvu/328

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272
POEMS OF EMILY BRONTË

XXX

Darkness was overtraced on every face,
Around clouded with storm and ominous gloom;
In hut or hall smiled out no resting-place;
There was no resting-place but one—the tomb!


All our hearths were the mansions of distress,
And no one laughed, and none seemed free from care;
Our children felt their fathers' wretchedness;
Our homes, one, all were shadowed with despair:
It was not fear that made the land so sad.

May 1838.