Poems by Emily Brontë

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'Tis moonlight, summer moonlight,
On a sunny brae alone I lay
"O day! he cannot die
It was a little budding rose,
A little while, a little while,
How beautiful the earth is still,
The day is done, the winter sun
Come hither, child, who gifted thee
Come, walk with me,
Death! that struck when I was most confiding.
"The winter wind is loud and wild,
Fall, leaves, fall; die, flowers, away;
Far, far away is mirth withdrawn
High waving heather 'neath stormy blasts bending,
The moon is full this winter night;
Hope Was but a timid friend;
How clear she shines! How quietly
How still, how happy! Those are words
I am the only being whose doom
I see around me tombstones grey
If grief for grief can touch thee,
No coward soul is mine,
Love is like the wild rose-briar,
Me thinks this heart should rest awhile
Mild the mist upon the hill
'Tis moonlight, summer moonlight,
Well hast thou spoken, and yet not taught
The linnet in the rocky dells,
No coward soul is mine,
Oh, thy bright eyes must answer now,
Cold in the earth, and the deep snow piled above thee,
"The evening passes fast away.
Shall Earth no more inspire thee,
She dried her tears and they did smile
The linnet in the rocky dells,
O, thy bright eyes must answer now,
Well, some may hate, and some may scorn,
I'll not weep that thou art going to leave me,
Ah! why, because the dazzling sun
There should be no despair for you
That wind I used to hear it swelling
The blue bell is the sweetest flower
In summer's mellow midnight,
The night is darkening round me,
Riches I hold in light esteem,
Enough of thought, philosopher!
A Fragment.
The sun has set, and the long grass now
Silent is the house: all are laid asleep:
The wind was rough which tore
When weary with the long day's care,
Yes, holy be thy resting place