Day Dream

By Emily Brontë

On a sunny brae alone I lay

One summer afternoon;

It was the marriage-time of May,

With her young lover, June.

From her mother’s heart seemed loath to part

That queen of bridal charms,

But her father smiled on the fairest child

He ever held in his arms.

The trees did wave their plumy crests,

The glad birds carolled clear;

And I, of all the wedding guests,

Was only sullen there!

There was not one, but wished to shun

My aspect void of cheer;

The very gray rocks, looking on,

Asked, “What do you here?”

And I could utter no reply;

In sooth, I did not know

Why I had brought a clouded eye

To greet the general glow.

A thousand thousand silvery lyres

Resounded far and near:

Methought, the very breath I breathed

Was full of sparks divine,

And all my heather-couch was wreathed

By that celestial shine!

And, while the wide earth echoing rung

To that strange minstrelsy

The little glittering spirits sung,

Or seemed to sing, to me:

“O mortal! mortal! let them die;

Let time and tears destroy,

That we may overflow the sky

With universal joy!

“Let grief distract the sufferer’s breast,

And night obscure his way;

They hasten him to endless rest,

And everlasting day.

“To thee the world is like a tomb,

A desert’s naked shore;

To us, in unimagined bloom,

It brightens more and more!

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