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Death
08:01 Jun 07 2005
Times Read: 758
Death!
that struck when I was most confiding
In my certain faith of joy to be -
Strike again,
Time's withered branch dividing
From the fresh root of Eternity!
Leaves,
upon Time's branch,
were growing brightly,
Full of sap, and full of silver dew;
Birds beneath its shelter gathered nightly;
Daily round its flowers the wild bees flew.
Sorrow passed, and plucked the golden blossom;
Guilt stripped off the foliage in its pride;
But, within its parent's kindly bosom,
Flowed for ever Life's restoring tide
Little mourned I for the parted gladness,
For the vacant nest and silent song -
Hope was there,
and laughed me out of sadness;
Whiapering, 'winter will not linger long!'
~~a selected poem from Emily Bronte`~~
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