Page:The complete poems of Emily Bronte.djvu/342

286 What made her weep, what made her glide

Out to the park this dreary day,

And cast her jewelled chains aside,

And seek a rough and lonely way;

And down beneath a cedar's shade,

On the wet grass regardless lie,

With nothing but its gloomy head

Between her and the showering sky?

I saw her stand in the gallery long,

Watching those little children there,

As they were playing the pillars among

And bounding down the marble stair.