Page:Poems by Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell (Charlotte, Emily and Anne Brontë, 1846).djvu/160

150 In vain—in vain! Thou canst not rise:

Thy prison roof confines thee there;

Its slender wires delude thine eyes,

And quench thy longings with despair.

Oh, thou wert made to wander free

In sunny mead and shady grove,

And, far beyond the rolling sea,

In distant climes, at will to rove!

Yet, hadst thou but one gentle mate

Thy little drooping heart to cheer,

And share with thee thy captive state,

Thou couldst be happy even there.

Yes, even there, if, listening by,

One faithful dear companion stood,

While gazing on her full bright eye,

Thou mightst forget thy native wood.

But thou, poor solitary dove,

Must make, unheard, thy joyless moan;

The heart, that Nature formed to love,

Must pine, neglected, and alone.

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