Page:The complete poems of Emily Bronte.djvu/228

172 Then she, upon the covered grave,

The grass-grown grave, did lie,

A tomb not girt by English wave

Nor arched by English sky.

The sod was sparkling bright with dew,

But brighter still with tears;

That welled from mortal grief, I knew

Which never heals with years.

And if he came not for her woe,

He would not now return;

He would not leave his sleep below,

When she had ceased to mourn.

O Innocence, that cannot live

With heart-wrung anguish long,

Dear childhood's innocence forgive,

For I have done thee wrong!

The bright rosebuds, those hawthorn shrouds

Within their perfumed bower,

Have never closed beneath a cloud,

Nor bent beneath a shower.

Had darkness once obscured their sun

Or kind dew turned to rain,

No storm-cleared sky that ever shone

Could win such bliss again.