IF thou be in a lonely place, <br /> If one hour's calm be thine, <br />As Evening bends her placid face <br /> O'er this sweet day's decline; <br />If all the earth and all the heaven <br /> Now look serene to thee, <br />As o'er them shuts the summer even, <br /> One momentthink of me ! <br /> <br />Pause, in the lane, returning home; <br /> 'Tis dusk, it will be still: <br />Pause near the elm, a sacred gloom <br /> Its breezeless boughs will fill. <br />Look at that soft and golden light, <br /> High in the unclouded sky; <br />Watch the last bird's belated flight, <br /> As it flits silent by. <br /> <br />Hark ! for a sound upon the wind, <br /> A step, a voice, a sigh; <br />If all be still, then yield thy mind, <br /> Unchecked, to memory. <br />If thy love were like mine, how blest <br /> That twilight hour would seem, <br />When, back from the regretted Past, <br /> Returned our early dream ! <br /> <br />If thy love were like mine, how wild <br /> Thy longings, even to pain, <br />For sunset soft, and moonlight mild, <br /> To bring that hour again ! <br />But oft, when in thine arms I lay, <br /> I've seen thy dark eyes shine, <br />And deeply felt, their changeful ray <br /> Spoke other love than mine. <br /> <br />My love is almost anguish now, <br /> It beats so strong and true; <br />'Twere rapture, could I deem that thou <br /> Such anguish ever knew. <br />I have been but thy transient flower, <br /> Thou wert my god divine; <br />Till, checked by death's congealing power, <br /> This heart must throb for thine. <br /> <br />And well my dying hour were blest, <br /> If life's expiring breath <br />Should pass, as thy lips gently prest <br /> My forehead, cold in death; <br />And sound my sleep would be, and sweet, <br /> Beneath the churchyard tree, <br />If sometimes in thy heart should beat <br /> One pulse, still true to me.<br /><br />Charlotte Brontë<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/stanzas-2/
