Page:Poems by Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell (Charlotte, Emily and Anne Brontë, 1846).djvu/126

116 Has mine eye a troubled glow?

Canst thou call a moment's colour

To my forehead—to my cheek?

Canst thou tinge their tranquil pallor

With one flattering, feverish streak?

Am I marble? What! no woman

Could so calm before thee stand?

Nothing living, sentient, human,

Could so coldly take thy hand?

Yes—a sister might, a mother:

My good-will is sisterly:

Dream not, then, I strive to smother

Fires that inly burn for thee.

Rave not, rage not, wrath is fruitless,

Fury cannot change my mind;

I but deem the feeling rootless

Which so whirls in passion's wind.

Can I love? Oh, deeply—truly—

Warmly—fondly—but not thee;

And my love is answered duly,

With an equal energy.

Wouldst thou see thy rival? Hasten,

Draw that curtain soft aside,

Look where yon thick branches chasten

Noon, with shades of eventide.

In that glade, where foliage blending

Forms a green arch overhead,

Sits thy rival thoughtful bending

O'er a stand with papers spread—

Motionless, his fingers plying