Alfred H. Miles, ed. Women Poets of the Nineteenth Century. 1907.
By Poems. I. The Night-windEmily Brontë (18181848)
I
A cloudless moon shone through
Our open parlour window,
And rose-trees wet with dew.
The soft wind waved my hair;
It told me heaven was glorious,
And sleeping earth was fair.
To bring such thoughts to me;
But still it whispered lowly,
How dark the woods will be!
Are rustling like a dream,
And all their myriad voices
Instinct with spirit seem.”
Thy wooing voice is kind:
But do not think its music
Has power to reach my mind.
The young tree’s supple bough,
And leave my human feelings
In their own course to flow.”
Its kiss grew warmer still.
“Oh come!” it sighed so sweetly;
“I’ll win thee ’gainst thy will.
Have I not loved thee long?
As long as thou, the solemn night,
Whose silence wakes my song.
Beneath the church-aisle stone,
I shall have time for mourning,
And thou for being alone.”