The Complete Poems of Emily Brontë, There's something in this glorious hour

VI

There's something in this glorious hour
That fills the soul with heavenly power,
And dims our eyes with sudden tears
That centre all the joys of years.
For we feel at once that there lingers still,
Like summer's sunshine o'er a hill,
A glory round life's pinnacle;
And we know, though we be yet below,
That we may not always linger so,
For still Ambition beckons on,
Is this a height that may be won?
And Hope still whispers in our ear,
'Others have been—thou mayst be there.'

Land of the west! Thy glorious skies,
Their dreamy depths of azure blue,
Their sunlit isles of paradise,
That float in golden glory through.
These depths of azure o'er my sight
Their musing moments seem to expand,
Revealing all their radiance bright
In cloud and gorgeous land.
Land of the west! thine evening sun
Brings thousand voiceless thoughts to mind
Of what I've said and seen and done
In years by time long left behind;
And forms and faces lost for ever
Seem arising round me now
As if to bid farewell for ever
Before my spirit go.
Oh! how they gush upon my heart
And overflow my eyes.
I must not keep, I cannot part
With such wild sympathies.
I know it's called a sin and shame
To mourn o'er what I mourn.

Aware her last hour approaching fast,
Upon her dying bed she lies;
Are her wild dreams of western skies,
The shallow wrecks of memories
That glitter through the gloom
Cast o'er them in the cold decay
Which signs the sickening soul away
To meet its early tomb?
What pleasant airs upon her face
With freshening fondness play,
As they would kiss each transient grace
Before it fades away!
And backward rolled each deep red fold,
Begilt with tasselled cords of gold,
The open arch displays;
O'er bower and trees that orb divine
His own unclouded lights decline
Before her glistening gaze.

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