This page has been validated.
POEMS OF EMILY BRONTË
279
XXXVII
The evening sun was sinking down
On low green hills and clustered trees;
It was a scene as fair and lone
As ever felt the soothing breeze
That cools the grass when day is gone,
And gives the waves a brighter blue,
And marks the soft white clouds sail on
Like spirits of ethereal dew;
Which all the morn had hovered o'er
The azure flowers where they were nursed,
And now return to Heaven once more,
Where their bright glories shone at first.
September 23, 1836.
