Emily Jane Brontë (Эмили Бронте)
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A little while, a little while, The noisy crowd are barred away; And I can sing and I can smile A little while I've holyday ! Where wilt thou go my harassed heart ? Full many a land invites thee now; And places near, and far apart Have rest for thee, my weary brow - There is a spot 'mid barren hills Where winter howls and driving rain But if the dreary tempest chills There is a light that warms again The house is old, the trees are bare And moonless bends the misty dome But what on earth is half so dear - So longed for as the hearth of home ? The mute bird sitting on the stone, The dank moss dripping from the wall, The garden-walk with weeds o'ergrown I love them - how I love them all ! Shall I go there? or shall I seek Another clime, another sky, Where tongues familiar music speak In accents dear to memory ? Yes, as I mused, the naked room, The flickering firelight died away And from the midst of cheerless gloom I passed to bright unclouded day - A little and a lone green lane That opened on a common wide A distant, dreamy, dim blue chain Of mountains circling every side - A heaven so clear, an earth so calm, So sweet, so soft, so hushed in air And, deepening still the dreamlike charm, Wild moor-sheep feeding everywhere - That was the scene - I knew it well I knew the pathways far and near That winding o'er each billowy swell Marked out the tracks of wandering deer Could I have lingered but an hour It well had paid a week of toil But truth has banished fancy's power I hear my dungeon bars recoil - Even as I stood with raptured eye Absorbed in bliss so deep and dear My hour of rest had fleeted by And given me back to weary care
Emily Jane Brontë’s other poems:
- Honour’s Martyr
- I See Around Me Tombstones Grey
- Shall Earth No More Inspire Thee
- Yes, Holy Be Thy Resting Place
- The Philosopher
1671
