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POEMS OF EMILY BRONTË
251
XVI
There let thy bleeding branch atone
For every torturing tear.
Shall my young sins, my sins alone,
Be everlasting here?
Who bade thee keep that carvèd name
A pledge for memory?
As if oblivion ever came
To breathe its bliss on me;
As if through all the 'wildering maze
Of mad hours left behind
I once forgot the early days
That thou wouldst call to mind.
