Poem by Anne Brontë

Night

I love the silent hour of night,
For blissful dreams may then arise,
Revealing to my charmed sight
What may not bless my waking eyes!
And then a voice may meet my ear
That death has silenced long ago;
And hope and rapture may appear
Instead of solitude and woe.

Cold in the grave for years has lain
The form it was my bliss to see,
And only dreams can bring again
The darling of my heart to me. 

1. Severed And Gone
2. A Prisoner in a Dungeon Deep
3. Vanitas Vanitatis, Etc
4. Oh, They have Robbed Me of The Hope
5. Lines Written From Home

Epes Sargent Night ("But, oh! the night—the cool, luxurious night")

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