SIT still­a word­a breath may break 
(As light airs stir a sleeping lake,) 
The glassy calm that soothes my woes, 
The sweet, the deep, the full repose. 
O leave me not ! for ever be 
Thus, more than life itself to me ! 

Yes, close beside thee, let me kneel­ 
Give me thy hand that I may feel 
The friend so true­so tried­so dear, 
My heart's own chosen­indeed is near; 
And check me not­this hour divine 
Belongs to me­is fully mine. 

'Tis thy own hearth thou sitt'st beside, 
After long absence­wandering wide; 
'Tis thy own wife reads in thine eyes, 
A promise clear of stormless skies, 
For faith and true love light the rays, 
Which shine responsive to her gaze. 

Aye,­well that single tear may fall; 
Ten thousand might mine eyes recall, 
Which from their lids, ran blinding fast, 
In hours of grief, yet scarcely past, 
Well may'st thou speak of love to me;
For, oh ! most truly­I love thee ! 

Yet smile­for we are happy now. 
Whence, then, that sadness on thy brow ? 
What say'st thou ? ' We must once again, 
Ere long, be severed by the main ? ' 
I knew not this­I deemed no more, 
Thy step would err from Britain's shore. 

' Duty commands ?' 'Tis true­'tis just; 
Thy slightest word I wholly trust, 
Nor by request, nor faintest sigh 
Would I, to turn thy purpose, try; 
But, William­hear my solemn vow­ 
Hear and confirm !­with thee I go. 

' Distance and suffering,' did'st thou say ? 
' Danger by night, and toil by day ?' 
Oh, idle words, and vain are these; 
Hear me ! I cross with thee the seas. 
Such risk as thou must meet and dare, 
I­thy true wife­will duly share. 

Passive, at home, I will not pine; 
Thy toils­thy perils, shall be mine; 
Grant this­and be hereafter paid 
By a warm heart's devoted aid:
'Tis granted­with that yielding kiss, 
Entered my soul unmingled bliss. 

Thanks, William­thanks ! thy love has joy, 
Pure­undefiled with base alloy; 
'Tis not a passion, false and blind, 
Inspires, enchains, absorbs my mind; 
Worthy, I feel, art thou to be 
Loved with my perfect energy. 

This evening, now, shall sweetly flow, 
Lit by our clear fire's happy glow; 
And parting's peace-embittering fear, 
Is warned, our hearts to come not near; 
For fate admits my soul's decree, 
In bliss or bale­to go with thee ! 

Added: Jun 1 2005 | Viewed: 710 times | Comments (0)

Poet: Charlotte Bronte
Poem: The Wife's Will

Poem of the Day on:
Aug 21 2007
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