POEMS OF EMILY BRONTË
I know not how it falls on me,
This summer evening hushed and lone;
Yet the faint wind comes soothingly
With something of an olden tone.
Forgive me if I've shunned so long
Your gentle greeting, earth and air!
But sorrow withers e'en the strong,
And who can fight against despair?
The busy day has glided by,
And hearts greet kindred hearts once more;
And swift the evening hour should fly,
But what turns every gleaming eye
So often to the unopened door?
June 3, 1831.