Page:The complete poems of Emily Bronte.djvu/270

214 LXII

standing in the forest now,

The place, the hour the same;

And here the green leaves shed a glow,

And there, down in that lake below,

The tiny ripples flame.

The breeze sings like a summer breeze

Should sing in summer skies,

And heavenlike wide and tentlike trees

In mingled glory rise.

The murmur of their boughs and leaves

Speaks pride as well as bliss,

And that blue heaven expanding seems

The circling hills to kiss.

But where is he to-day, to-day?

No whisper, not to me;

I will not question, only say

Where may thy lover be?

Is he upon some distant shore,

Or is he on the sea?

Or is the heart thou dost adore

A faithless heart to thee?

The heart I love and you deride

Is changeless as the grave,

And neither foreign lands divide,

Nor yet the ocean's wave.