J. C. Squire, ed. A Book of Women’s Verse. 1921.
By Emily Brontë (18181848)The Visionary
S
One alone looks out o’er the snow-wreaths deep,
Watching every cloud, dreading every breeze
That whirls the wildering drift, and bends the groaning trees.
Not one shivering gust creeps through pane or door;
The little lamp burns straight, its rays shoot strong and far:
I trim it well, to be the wanderer’s guiding star.
Set your slaves to spy; threaten me with shame!
But neither sire nor dame, nor prying serfs shall know
What angel nightly tracks that waste of frozen snow.
Safe in secret power from lurking human snare,
What loves me, no word of mine shall e’er betray,
Though for faith unstained my life must forfeit pay.
Hush! a rustling wing stirs, methinks, the air:
He for whom I wait, thus ever comes to me;
Strange Power! I trust thy might; trust thou my constancy!