Emily Jane Brontë (Эмили Бронте)

* * *

Yes, holy be thy resting place
Wherever thou may'st lie;
The sweetest winds breathe on thy face,
The softest of the sky.

And will not guardian Angles send
Kind dreams and thoughts of love,
Though I no more may watchful bend
Thy longed repose above?

And will not heaven itself bestow
A beam of glory there
That summer's grass more green may grow,
And summer's flowers more fair?

Farewell, farewell, 'tis hard to part
Yet, loved one, it must be:
I would not rend another heart
Not even by blessing thee.

Go! We must break affection's chain,
Forget the hopes of years:
Nay, grieve not - willest thou remain
To waken wilder tears

This herald breeze with thee and me,
Roved in the dawning day:
And thou shouldest be where it shall be
Ere evening, far away. 

1. I See Around Me Tombstones Grey
2. The Wind Was Rough Which Tore
3. High Waving Heather 'Neath Stormy Blasts Bending
4. Often Rebuked, Yet Always Back Returning
5. Death, That Struck When I Was Most Confiding

Распечатать (Print)

Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1741

Последние стихотворения

To English version