Page:The complete poems of Emily Bronte.djvu/101

Rh So stood I, in Heaven's glorious sun,

And in the glare of Hell;

My spirit drank a mingled tone,

Of seraph's song, and demon's moan;

What my soul bore, my soul alone

Within itself may tell!

Like a soft air above a sea,

Tossed by the tempest's stir;

A thaw-wind, melting quietly

The snow-drift on some wintry lea;

No: what sweet thing resembles thee,

My thoughtful Comforter?

And yet a little longer speak,

Calm this resentful mood;

And while the savage heart grows meek,

For other token do not seek,

But let the tear upon my cheek

Evince my gratitude!