Page:The complete poems of Emily Bronte.djvu/388

332 No vision of his mother's face

When she so fondly mild set free

Her darling child from her embrace

To roam till eve at liberty.

Nor of his haunts, nor of the flowers,

His tiny hand would grateful bear,

Returning from the darkening bowers,

To weave into her glossy hair.

I saw the light breeze kiss his cheek,

His fingers 'mid the roses twined;

I watched to mark one transient streak

Of pensive softness shade his mind.

The open window showed around

A glowing park and glorious sky,

And thick woods swelling with the sound

Of nature's mingled harmony.

Silent he sat. That stormy breast

At length I said has deigned to rest;

At length above that spirit flows

The waveless ocean of repose.

Let me draw near, 'twill soothe to view

His dark eyes dimmed with holy dew;

Remorse even now may wake within

And half unchain his soul from sin.