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POEMS OF EMILY BRONTË
147
And then a voice—I hear it yet—
So full of soul, so deeply sweet;
I thought that Gabriel's self had come
To take me to my father's home.
Three times it rose, that solemn strain,
Then died away, nor came again;
And still the words and still the tone
Dwell in their might when all alone.
July 19, 1839.
