The Complete Poems of Emily Brontë, And first an hour of mournful musing

LXV

And first an hour of mournful musing,
And then a gush of bitter tears;
And then a dreary calm diffusing
Its deadly mist o'er joys and cares.

And then a throb and then a lightening,
And then a wakening from above;
And then a star in heaven brightening
The star, the glorious star of love.

·····

Wind, sink to rest in the heather,
Thy wild voice suits not me;
I would have dreary weather,
But all devoid of thee.

Sun set from that evening heaven,
Thy glad smile wins not mine;
If light at all is given,
O give me Cynthia's shine!

·····

Long neglect has worn away
Half the sweet, the haunting smile;
Time has turned the bloom to grey,
Mould and damp the face defile.

But that lock of silky hair,
Still beneath the picture twined,
Tells what once those features were,
Paints her image on the mind.

Fair the hand that traced that line,
'Dearest, ever deem me true';
Swiftly flew the fingers fine
When the pen that motto drew.

Awaking morning laughs from heaven
On golden summer's forests green,
And what a gust of song is given
To welcome in that light serene!

A fresh wind waves the clustering roses
And through the open window sighs
Around the couch where she reposes,
The lady with the dovelike eyes;

With dovelike eyes and shining hair,
And velvet cheek so sweetly moulded;
And hands so white and soft and fair
Above her snowy bosom folded.

·····

Her sister's and her brother's feet
Are brushing off the scented dew,
And she springs up in haste to greet
The grass and flowers and sunshine too.

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