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POEMS OF EMILY BRONTË
281
XXXIX
Loud without the wind was roaring
Through the wan autumnal sky;
Drenching wet the cold rain pouring,
Spoke of stormy winter nigh.
All too like that dreary eve
Sighed without repining grief,
Sighed at first, but sighed not long;
Sweet, how softly sweet it came—
Wild words of an ancient song,
Undefined, without a name.
November 1836.
