Emily Jane Brontë (Эмили Бронте)

* * *

That wind I used to hear it swelling
With joy divinely deep
You might have seen my hot tears welling
But rapture made me weep

I used to love on winter nights
To lie and dream alone
Of all the hopes and real delights
My early years had known

And oh above the rest of those
That coming time should [bear]
Like heaven's own glorious stars they rose
Still beaming bright and fair.

1. The Wanderer from the Fold
2. Often Rebuked, Yet Always Back Returning
3. The Wind Was Rough Which Tore
4. Mild the Mist upon the Hill
5. The Visionary

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