Page:Poems by Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell (Charlotte, Emily and Anne Brontë, 1846).djvu/67

Rh December's sullen time!

Why dost thou hold the treasure fast,

Of youth's delight, when youth is past,

And thou art near thy prime?

When those who were thy own compeers,

Equals in fortune and in years,

Have seen their morning melt in tears,

To clouded, smileless day;

Blest, had they died untried and young,

Before their hearts went wandering wrong,

Poor slaves, subdued by passions strong,

A weak and helpless prey!

"Because, I hoped while they enjoyed,

And, by fulfilment, hope destroyed;

As children hope, with trustful breast,

I waited bliss—and cherished rest.

A thoughtful spirit taught me, soon,

That we must long till life be done;

That every phase of earthly joy

Must always fade, and always cloy:

This I foresaw—and would not chase

The fleeting treacheries;

But, with firm foot and tranquil face,

Held backward from that tempting race,

Gazed o'er the sands the waves efface,

To the enduring seas—