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POEMS OF EMILY BRONTË
LVIII
All hushed and still within the house;
Without, all wind and driving rain;
But something whispers to my mind,
Wrought up in rain and wailing wind:
Never again? Why not again? Never again;
Memory has power as well as wind.
But the hearts that once adored me
Have long forgot their vow;
And the friends that mustered round me,
Have all forsaken now.
'Twas in a dream revealed to me,
But not a dream of sleep;
A dream of watchful agony,
Of guilt that would not weep.
