Night (Brontë)

I love the silent hour of night, For blissful dreams may then arise, Revealing to my charmed sight What may not bless my waking eyes! And then a voice may meet my ear That death has silenced long ago; And hope and rapture may appear Instead of solitude and woe.

Cold in the grave for years has lain The form it was my bliss to see, And only dreams can bring again The darling of my heart to me.