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POEMS OF EMILY BRONTË
149
And your own children's merry voices chasing
The phantom ghost that pleasure has been raising.
Aye speak of these; but can you tell me why
Day breathes such beauty over earth and sky,
And waking sounds revive, restore again
To hearts that all night long have throbbed with pain?
Is it not that the sunshine and the wind
Lure from itself the woe-worn mind,
And all the joyous music breathing by,
And all the splendours of that cloudless sky,
Regive him shadowy gleams of infancy
And draw his tired gaze from futurity?
August 12, 1839.
