Page:Poems by Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell (Charlotte, Emily and Anne Brontë, 1846).djvu/83

Rh III.

THE WELCOME HOME.

the city hangs the moon,

Some clouds are boding rain,

Gilbert, erewhile on journey gone,

To-night comes home again.

Ten years have passed above his head,

Each year has brought him gain;

His prosperous life has smoothly sped,

Without or tear or stain.

'Tis somewhat late—the city clocks

Twelve deep vibrations toll,

As Gilbert at the portal knocks,

Which is his journey's goal.

The street is still and desolate,

The moon hid by a cloud;

Gilbert, impatient, will not wait,—

His second knock peals loud.

The clocks are hushed; there's not a light

In any window nigh,

And not a single planet bright

Looks from the clouded sky;

The air is raw, the rain descends,

A bitter north-wind blows;

His cloak the traveller scarce defends—

Will not the door unclose?