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POEMS OF EMILY BRONTË
269
XXVII
Start not! upon the minster wall
Sunshine is shed in holy calm,
And lonely though my footsteps fall,
The saints shall shelter thee from harm.
Shrink not if it be summer noon,
This shadow should night's welcome be;
These stairs are steep, but landed soon
We'll rest us long and quietly.
What though our path be o'er the dead,
They slumber soundly in the tomb;
And why should mortals fear to tread
The pathway to their future home?
