All overgrown by cunning moss

All overgrown by cunning moss, All interspersed with weed, The little cage of "Currer Bell" In quiet "Haworth" laid.

Gathered from many wanderings — Gethsemane can tell Thro' what transporting anguish She reached the Asphodel!

Soft fall the sounds of Eden Upon her puzzled ear — Oh what an afternoon for Heaven, When "Bronte" entered there!