Page:The complete poems of Emily Bronte.djvu/172

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GLENEDEN'S DREAM

me, whether is it winter?

Say how long my sleep has been?

Have the woods, I left so lovely,

Lost their robes of tender green?

Is the morning slow in coming?

Is the night-time loth to go?

Tell me, are the dreary mountains

Drearier still with drifted snow?

'Captive, since thou sawest the frost,

All its leaves have died away;

And another March has woven

Garlands for another May.

'Ice has barred the Arctic waters,

Soft southern winds have set it free;

And once more to deep green valley

Golden flowers might welcome thee.'

Watching in this lonely prison,

Shut from joy and kindly air,

Heaven, descending in a vision,

Taught my soul to do and bear.

It was night, a night of winter;

I lay on the dungeon floor,

And all other sounds were silent,

All, except the river's roar.