Page:Poems by Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell (Charlotte, Emily and Anne Brontë, 1846).djvu/154

144 And, before my dreaming eyes

Still the learned volumes lay,

And I could not close their leaves,

And I could not turn away.

But I oped my eyes at last,

And I heard a muffled sound;

'Twas the night-breeze, come to say

That the snow was on the ground.

Then I knew that there was rest

On the mountain's bosom free;

So I left my fevered couch,

And I flew to waken thee!

I have flown to waken thee—

For, if thou wilt not arise,

Then my soul can drink no peace

From these holy moonlight skies.

And, this waste of virgin snow

To my sight will not be fair,

Unless thou wilt smiling come,

Love, to wander with me there.

Then, awake! Maria, wake!

For, if thou couldst only know

How the quiet moonlight sleeps

On this wilderness of snow,