Emily Bronte

'Tis moonlight, summer moonlight, All soft and still and fair; The solemn hour of midnight

On a sunny brae alone I lay One summer afternoon; It was the marriage-time of May,

"O day! he cannot die When thou so fair art shining! O Sun, in such a glorious sky,

It was a little budding rose, Round like a fairy globe, And shyly did its leaves unclose

A little while, a little while, The weary task is put away, And I can sing and I can smile,

How beautiful the earth is still, To thee, how full of happiness? How little fraught with real ill,

The day is done, the winter sun Is setting in its sullen sky; And drear the course that has been run,

Come hither, child, who gifted thee With power to touch that string so well? How darest thou rouse up thoughts in me,

Come, walk with me, There's only thee To bless my spirit now

Death! that struck when I was most confiding. In my certain faith of joy to be, Strike again, Time's withered branch dividing

"The winter wind is loud and wild, Come close to me, my darling child; Forsake thy books, and mateless play;

Fall, leaves, fall; die, flowers, away; Lengthen night and shorten day; Every leaf speaks bliss to me

Far, far away is mirth withdrawn 'Tis three long hours before the morn And I watch lonely, drearily

High waving heather 'neath stormy blasts bending, Midnight and moonlight and bright shining stars, Darkness and glory rejoicingly blending,

The moon is full this winter night; The stars are clear, though few; And every window glistens bright

Hope Was but a timid friend; She sat without the grated den, Watching how my fate would tend,

How clear she shines! How quietly I lie beneath her guardian light; While heaven and earth are whispering me,

How still, how happy! Those are words That once would scarce agree together; I loved the plashing of the surge,

I am the only being whose doom No tongue would ask no eye would mourn I never caused a thought of gloom

I see around me tombstones grey Stretching their shadows far away. Beneath the turf my footsteps tread

If grief for grief can touch thee, If answering woe for woe, If any truth can melt thee

No coward soul is mine, No trembler in the world's storm-troubled sphere: I see Heaven's glories shine,

Love is like the wild rose-briar, Friendship like the holly-tree, The holly is dark when the rose-briar blooms

Me thinks this heart should rest awhile So stilly round the evening falls The veiled sun sheds no parting smile

Mild the mist upon the hill Telling not of storms tomorrow; No, the day has wept its fill,

'Tis moonlight, summer moonlight, All soft and still and fair; The solemn hour of midnight

Well hast thou spoken, and yet not taught A feeling strange or new; Thou hast but roused a latent thought,

The linnet in the rocky dells, The moor-lark in the air, The bee among the heather bells

No coward soul is mine, No trembler in the world,s storm-troubled sphere: I see Heaven's glories shine,

Oh, thy bright eyes must answer now, When Reason, with a scornful brow, Is mocking at my overthrow!

Cold in the earth, and the deep snow piled above thee, Far, far, removed, cold in the dreary grave! Have I forgot, my only Love, to love thee,

"The evening passes fast away. 'Tis almost time to rest; What thoughts has left the vanished day,

Shall Earth no more inspire thee, Thou lonely dreamer now? Since passion may not fire thee

She dried her tears and they did smile To see her cheeks' returning glow How little dreaming all the while

The linnet in the rocky dells, The moor-lark in the air, The bee among the heather bells

O, thy bright eyes must answer now, When Reason, with a scornful brow, Is mocking at my overthrow!

Well, some may hate, and some may scorn, And some may quite forget thy name; But my sad heart must ever mourn

I'll not weep that thou art going to leave me, There's nothing lovely here; And doubly will the dark world grieve me,

Ah! why, because the dazzling sun Restored our Earth to joy, Have you departed, every one,

There should be no despair for you While nightly stars are burning; While evening pours its silent dew,

That wind I used to hear it swelling With joy divinely deep You might have seen my hot tears welling

The blue bell is the sweetest flower That waves in summer air; Its blossoms have the mightiest power

In summer's mellow midnight, A cloudless moon shone through Our open parlour window,

The night is darkening round me, The wild winds coldly blow ; But a tyrant spell has bound me,

Riches I hold in light esteem, And Love I laugh to scorn; And lust of fame was but a dream,

Enough of thought, philosopher! Too long hast thou been dreaming Unlightened, in this chamber drear,

A Fragment. In the dungeon-crypts idly did I stray, Reckless of the lives wasting there away;

The sun has set, and the long grass now Waves dreamily in the evening wind; And the wild bird has flown from that old gray stone

Silent is the house: all are laid asleep: One alone looks out o'er the snow-wreaths deep, Watching every cloud, dreading every breeze

The wind was rough which tore That leaf from its parent tree The fate was cruel which bore

When weary with the long day's care, And earthly change from pain to pain, And lost, and ready to despair,

Yes, holy be thy resting place Wherever thou may'st lie; The sweetest winds breathe on thy face,