Page:Poems by Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell (Charlotte, Emily and Anne Brontë, 1846).djvu/84

74 He knocks the third time, and the last;

His summons now they hear,

Within, a footstep, hurrying fast,

Is heard approaching near.

The bolt is drawn, the clanking chain

Falls to the floor of stone;

And Gilbert to his heart will strain

His wife and children soon.

The hand that lifts the latchet, holds

A candle to his sight,

And Gilbert, on the step, beholds

A woman, clad in white.

Lo! water from her dripping dress

Runs on the streaming floor;

From every dark and clinging tress,

The drops incessant pour.

There's none but her to welcome him;

She holds the candle high,

And, motionless in form and limb,

Stands cold and silent nigh;

There's sand and sea-weed on her robe,

Her hollow eyes are blind;

No pulse in such a frame can throb,

No life is there defined.

Gilbert turned ashy-white, but still

His lips vouchsafed no cry;

He spurred his strength and master-will

To pass the figure by,—