Emily Bronte

How still, how happy! Those are words That once would scarce agree together; I loved the plashing of the surge - The changing heaven the breezy weather,

More than smooth seas and cloudless skies And solemn, soothing, softened airs That in the forest woke no sighs And from the green spray shook no tears.

How still, how happy! now I feel Where silence dwells is sweeter far Than laughing mirth's most joyous swell However pure its raptures are.

Come, sit down on this sunny stone: 'Tis wintry light o'er flowerless moors - But sit - for we are all alone And clear expand heaven's breathless shores.

I could think in the withered grass Spring's budding wreaths we might discern; The violet's eye might shyly flash And young leaves shoot among the fern.

It is but thought - full many a night The snow shall clothe those hills afar And storms shall add a drearier blight And winds shall wage a wilder war,

Before the lark may herald in Fresh foliage twined with blossoms fair And summer days again begin Their glory - haloed crown to wear.

Yet my heart loves December's smile As much as July's golden beam; Then let us sit and watch the while The blue ice curdling on the stream -

Death! that struck when I was most confiding In my certain faith of joy to be - Strike again, Time's withered branch dividing From the fresh root of Eternity!

Leaves, upon Time's branch, were growing brightly, Full of sap, and full of silver dew; Birds beneath its shelter gathered nightly; Daily round its flowers the wild bees flew.

Sorrow passed, and plucked the golden blossom; Guilt stripped off the foliage in its pride; But, within its parent's kindly bosom, Flowed for ever Life's restoring-tide.

Little mourned I for the parted gladness, For the vacant nest and silent song - Hope was there, and laughed me out of sadness; Whispering, " Winter will not linger long!"

And, behold! with tenfold increase blessing, Spring adorned the beauty-burdened spray; Wind and rain and fervent heat, caressing, Lavished glory on that second May!

High it rose - no winged grief could sweep it; Sin was scared to distance with its shine; Love, and its own life, had power to keep it From all wrong - from every blight but thine!

Cruel Death! The young leaves droop and languish; Evening's gentle air may still restore - No! the morning sunshine mocks my anguish - Time, for me, must never blossom more!

Strike it down, that other boughs may flourish Where that perished sapling used to be; Thus, at least, its mouldering corpse will nourish That from which it sprung - Eternity.

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

But most where trees are sending Their breezy boughs on high, Or stooping low are lending A shelter from the sky.

And there in those wild bowers A lovely form is laid; Green grass and dew-steeped flowers Wave gently round her head.

Come hither, child--who gifted thee With power to touch that string so well? How darest thou rouse up thoughts in me, Thoughts that I would--but cannot quell?

Nay, chide not, lady; long ago I heard those notes in Ula's hall, And had I known they'd waken woe I'd weep their music to recall.

But thus it was: one festal night When I was hardly six years old I stole away from crowds and light And sought a chamber dark and cold.

I had no one to love me there, I knew no comrade and no friend; And so I went to sorrow where Heaven, only heaven saw me bend.

Loud blew the wind; 'twas sad to stay From all that splendour barred away. I imaged in the lonely room A thousand forms of fearful gloom.

And with my wet eyes raised on high I prayed to God that I might die. Suddenly in that silence drear A sound of music reached my ear,

And then a note, I hear it yet, So full of soul, so deeply sweet, I thought that Gabriel's self had come To take me to thy father's home.

Three times it rose, that seraph strain, Then died, nor breathed again; But still the words and still the tone Dwell round my heart when all alone.

Ah! why, because the dazzling sun Restored our Earth to joy, Have you departed, every one, And left a desert sky?

All through the night, your glorious eyes Were gazing down in mine, And, with a full heart's thankful sighs, I blessed that watch divine.

I was at peace, and drank your beams As they were life to me; And revelled in my changeful dreams, Like petrel on the sea.

Thought followed thought, star followed star Through boundless regions on; While one sweet influence, near and far, Thrilled through, and proved us one!

Why did the morning dawn to break So great, so pure a spell; And scorch with fire the tranquil cheek, Where your cool radiance fell?

Blood-red, he rose, and arrow-straight, His fierce beams struck my brow; The soul of nature sprang, elate, But mine sank sad and low.

My lids closed down, yet through their veil I saw him, blazinig, still, And steep in gold the misty dale, And flash upon the hill.

I turned me to the pillow, then, To call back night, and see Your words of solemn light, again, Throb with my heart, and me!

It would not do - the pillow glowed, And glowed both roof and floor; And birds sang loudly in the wood, And fresh winds shook the door;

The curtains waved, the wakened flies Were murmuring round my room, Imprisoned there, till I should rise, And give them leave to roam.

O stars, and dreams, and gentle night; O night and stars, return! And hide me from the hostile light That does not warm, but burn;

That drains the blood of suffering men; Drinks tears, instead of dew; Let me sleep through his blinding reign, And only wake with you!

Hope was but a timid friend; She sat without the grated den, Watching how my fate would tend, Even as selfish-hearted men.

She was cruel in her fear; Through the bars, one dreary day, I looked out to see her there, And she turned her face away!

Like a false guard, false watch keeping, Still, in strife, she whispered peace; She would sing while I was weeping; If I listened, she would cease.

False she was, and unrelenting; When my last joys strewed the ground, Even Sorrow saw, repenting, Those sad relics scattered round;

Hope, whose whisper would have given Balm to all my frenzied pain, Stretched her wings, and soared to heaven, Went, and ne'er returned again!

It was a little budding rose, Round like a fairy globe, And shyly did its leaves unclose Hid in their mossy robe, But sweet was the slight and spicy smell It breathed from its heart invisible.

The rose is blasted, withered, blighted, Its root has felt a worm, And like a heart beloved and slighted, Failed, faded, shrunk its form. Bud of beauty, bonnie flower, I stole thee from thy natal bower.

I was the worm that withered thee, Thy tears of dew all fell for me; Leaf and stalk and rose are gone, Exile earth they died upon. Yes, that last breath of balmy scent With alien breezes sadly blent!

Love is like the wild rose-briar, Friendship like the holly-tree -- The holly is dark when the rose-briar blooms But which will bloom most contantly? The wild-rose briar is sweet in the spring, Its summer blossoms scent the air; Yet wait till winter comes again And who wil call the wild-briar fair? Then scorn the silly rose-wreath now And deck thee with the holly's sheen, That when December blights thy brow He may still leave thy garland green.