Poem by Emily Jane Brontë

* * *

The sun has set, and the long grass now
Waves dreamily in the evening wind;
And the wild bird has flown from that old gray stone
In some warm nook a couch to find.

In all the lonely landscape round
I see no light and hear no sound,
Except the wind that far away
Come sighing o'er the healthy sea.

1. The Visionary
2. Self-Interrogation
3. Mild the Mist upon the Hill
4. Often Rebuked, Yet Always Back Returning
5. The Wanderer from the Fold

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