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POEMS OF EMILY BRONTË
VI
The night of storms has past;
The sunshine bright and clear
Gives glory to the verdant waste,
And warms the breezy air.
And I would leave my bed,
Its cheering smile to see,
To chase the visions from my head,
Whose forms have toubled me.
In all the hours of gloom
My soul was rapt away;
I stood by a marble tomb
Where royal corpses lay.
It was just the time of eve,
When parted ghosts might come,
Above their prisoned dust to grieve
And wail their woeful doom.
And truly at my side
I saw a shadowy thing,
Most dim, and yet its presence there
Curdled my blood with ghastly fear
And ghastlier wondering.
