The wind was rough which tore
That leaf from its parent tree 
The fate was cruel which bore 
The withering corpse to me 

We wander on we have no rest
It is a dreary way 

What shadow is it
That ever moves before [my] eyes 
It has a brow of ghostly whiteness 

Added: Mar 14 2005 | Viewed: 619 times | Comments (0)

Poet: Emily Bronte
Poem: Wind was Rough which Tore, The

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