The Complete Poems of Emily Brontë/The busy day has hurried by
XXXIV
The busy day has hurried by,
And hearts greet kindred hearts once more;
And swift the evening hours should fly,
But, what turns every gleaming eye
So often to the door?
And then so quick away?—And why
Does sudden silence chill the room?
And laughter sink into a sigh,
And merry words to whispers die,
And gladness change to gloom?
Oh, we are listening for a sound,
We know, shall ne'er be heard again;
Sweet voices in the halls resound,
Fair forms, fond faces gather round,
But all in vain, in vain.
Their feet shall never waken more
The echoes in those galleries wide,
Nor dare the snow on mountain's brow,
Nor skim the river's frozen flow,
Nor wander down its side.
They who have been our life, our soul,
Through summer youth from childhood's spring,
Who bound us in one vigorous whole
To stand 'gainst Tyranny's control
For ever triumphing:
Who bore the brunt of battle's fray,
The first to fight, the last to fall,
Whose mighty minds with kindred lay,
Still led the van in glory's way
The idol chiefs of all.
They, they are gone! Not for a while,
As golden suns at night decline,
And e'en in death our grief beguile,
Foretelling with a rose-red smile
How bright the morn will shine.
No; these dark towers are lone and lorn;
This very crowd is vacancy;
And we must watch and wait and mourn
And half look out for their return;
And think their forms we see.
And fancy music in our ear,
Such as their lips could only pour,
And think we feel their presence near,
And start to find they are not here;
And never shall be more!
June 14, 1839.