Page:The complete poems of Emily Bronte.djvu/239

Rh But if to weep above her grave

Be such a priceless boon,

Go, shed thy tears in Ocean's wave

And they will reach it soon.

Yet midst thy wild repining,

Mad though that anguish be,

Think heaven on her is shining

Even as it shines on thee.

With thy mind's vision pierce the deep,

Look now she rests below,

And tell me, why such blessed sleep

Should cause such bitter woe?