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    Emily Bronte - The Night-Wind


    by poetictouch

    The Night-Wind
    by Emily Bronte (1818-1848)
    Read by Frankie MacEachen

    In summer's mellow midnight,
    A cloudless moon shone through
    Our open parlour window,
    And rose-trees wet with dew.

    I sat in silent musing;
    The soft wind waved my hair;
    It told me heaven was glorious,
    And sleeping earth was fair.

    I needed not its breathing
    To bring such thoughts to me;
    But still it whispered lowly,
    How dark the woods will be!

    "The thick leaves in my murmur
    Are rustling like a dream,
    And all their myriad voices
    Instinct with spirit seem."

    I said, "Go, gentle singer,
    Thy wooing voice is kind:
    But do not think its music
    Has power to reach my mind.

    "Play with the scented flower,
    The young tree's supple bough,
    And leave my human feelings
    In their own course to flow."

    The wanderer would not heed me;
    Its kiss grew warmer still.
    "O come!" it sighed so sweetly;
    "I'll win thee 'gainst thy will.

    "Have we not been from childhood friends?
    Have I not loved thee long?
    As long as thou hast loved the night
    Whose silence wakes my song.

    "And when thy heart is laid at rest
    Beneath the church-yard stone,
    I shall have time for mourning,
    And thou for being alone."