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Poem by Emily Jane Brontë


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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. 



Emily Jane Brontë


Emily Jane Brontë's other poems:
  1. The Wanderer from the Fold
  2. Honour's Martyr
  3. I See Around Me Tombstones Grey
  4. Self-Interrogation
  5. That Wind I Used to Hear It Swelling


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