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POEMS OF EMILY BRONTË
And I have sat and watched the trees,
And the sad flowers, how drear they blew;
Those flowers were formed to feel the breeze
Wave their light heads in summer's glow.
Yet their lives passed in gloomy woe,
And hopeless comes its dark decline,
And I lament because I know
That cold departure pictures mine.
February 27, 1841.
