Page:Poems by Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell (Charlotte, Emily and Anne Brontë, 1846).djvu/159

Rh I'll not weep, because the summer's glory

Must always end in gloom;

And, follow out the happiest story—

It closes with a tomb!

And I am weary of the anguish

Increasing winters bear;

Weary to watch the spirit languish

Through years of dead despair.

So, if a tear, when thou art dying,

Should haply fall from me,

It is but that my soul is sighing,

To go and rest with thee.

.

THE CAPTIVE DOVE.

restless dove, I pity thee;

And when I hear thy plaintive moan,

I mourn for thy captivity,

And in thy woes forget mine own.

To see thee stand prepared to fly,

And flap those useless wings of thine,

And gaze into the distant sky,

Would melt a harder heart than mine.