Page:The complete poems of Emily Bronte.djvu/360

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304
POEMS OF EMILY BRONTË

LIV

Month after month, year after year,
My harp has poured a dreary strain;
At length a livelier note shall cheer,
And pleasure tune its chords again.


What though the stars and fair moonlight
Are quenched in morning dull and grey?
They are but tokens of the night,
And this, my soul, is day.

June 18, 1839.