Page:The complete poems of Emily Bronte.djvu/142

86 It's over now—and I am free,

And the ocean wind is caressing me,

The wild wind from the wavy main

I never thought to see again.

Bless thee, bright Sea, and glorious dome,

And my own world, my spirit's home;

Bless thee, bless all—I cannot speak;

My voice is choked, but not with grief,

And salt drops from my haggard cheek

Descend like rain upon the heath.

How long they've wet a dungeon floor,

Falling on flagstones damp and grey:

I used to weep even in my sleep;

The night was dreadful like the day.

I used to weep when winter's snow

Whirled through the grating stormily;

But then it was a calmer woe,

For everything was drear to me.

The bitterest time, the worst of all,

Was that in which the summer sheen

Cast a green lustre on the wall

That told of fields of lovelier green.

Often I've sat down on the ground,

Gazing up to the flush scarce seen,

Till, heedless of the darkness round,

My soul has sought a land serene.