Page:The complete poems of Emily Bronte.djvu/186

130 XXVIII

up thy halls! 'Tis closing day;

I'm drear and lone and far away.

Cold blows on my breast the Northwind's bitter sigh,

And, oh! my couch is bleak, beneath the rainy sky!

Light up thy halls! think not of me;

Absent is that face which thou hast hated so to see;

Bright be thine eyes, undimmed their dazzling shine,

For never, never more shall they encounter mine!

The desert moor is dark, there is tempest in the air;

I have breathed my only wish in one last, one burning prayer;

A prayer that would come forth altho' it lingered long;

That set on fire my heart, but froze upon my tongue.

And now, it shall be done before the morning rise;

I will not watch the sun arise in yonder skies.

One task alone remains—thy pictured face to view,

And then I go to prove if God, at least, be true!