The Complete Poems of Emily Brontë, Fair sinks the summer evening now

XXXVIII

Fair sinks the summer evening now
In scattered glory round;
The sky upon its holy brow
Wears not a cloud that speaks of gloom.

The old tower, shrined in golden light,
Looks down on the descending sun;
So softly evening blends with night,
You scarce can say when day is done.

And this is just the joyous hour
When we were wont to burst away
T' escape from labour's tyrant power
And cheerfully go out to play.

Then why is all so sad and lone?
No merry footstep on the stair,
No laugh, no heart-awaking tone,
But voiceless silence everywhere.

I've wandered round our garden ground,[1]
And still it seemed at every turn
That I should greet approaching feet,
And words upon the breezes hung.

In vain, they will not come to-day,
And morning's beams will rise as drear.
Then tell me, are they gone for aye,
Or gleams the sun amongst the mists of care?

Be still, reviving hope doth say,
Departed joys 'tis fond to mourn,
Think every storm that rides its way
Prepared a more divine return.

August 30, 1839.

• ↑ Stanzas 5 and 6 have been crossed out in the manuscript.

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