POEMS OF EMILY BRONTË
The dearest to a mountaineer
Who all life long has loved the snow
That crowned his native summits drear,
Better than greenest plains below.
And voiceless, soulless, messenger,
Thy presence waked a thrilling tone
That comforts me while thou art here,
And will sustain when thou art gone.
December 1837, Emily Jane Brontë.