Page:The complete poems of Emily Bronte.djvu/61

Rh III

THE PHILOSOPHER

of thought, philosopher!

Too long hast thou been dreaming

Unlightened, in this chamber drear,

While summer's sun is beaming!

Space-sweeping soul, what sad refrain

Concludes thy musings once again?

'Oh, for the time when I shall sleep

Without identity.

And never care how rain may steep,

Or snow may cover me!

No promised heaven, these wild desires

Could all, or half fulfil;

No threatened hell, with quenchless fires,

Subdue this quenchless will!'

'So said I, and still say the same;

Still, to my death, will say—

Three gods, within this little frame,

Are warring night and day;

Heaven could not hold them all, and yet

They all are held in me;

And must be mine till I forget

My present entity!