The wild deer browse above her breast;
The wild birds raise their brood;
And they, her smiles of love caressed,
Have left her solitude !
I ween, that when the grave's dark wall
Did first her form retain;
They thought their hearts could ne'er recall
The light of joy again.
They thought the tide of grief would flow
Unchecked through future years;
But where is all their anguish now,
And where are all their tears ?
Well, let them fight for honour's breath,
Or pleasure's shade pursue
The dweller in the land of death
Is changed and careless too.
And, if their eyes should watch and weep
Till sorrow's source were dry
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She would not, in her tranquil sleep,
Blow, west-wind, by the lonely mound,
And murmur, summer-streams
There is no need of other sound
To sooth my lady's dreams.
ELLIS. Emily Jane Brontë (1818-1848)
