When weary with the long day's care, <br />And earthly change from pain to pain, <br />And lost and ready to despair, <br />Thy kind voice calls me back again: <br />Oh, my true friend! I am not lone, <br />While thou canst speak with such a tone! <br /> <br />So hopeless is the world without; <br />The world within I doubly prize; <br />Thy world, where guile, and hate, and doubt, <br />And cold suspicion never rise; <br />Where thou, and I, and Liberty, <br />Have undisputed sovereignty. <br /> <br />What matters it, that, all around, <br />Danger, and guilt, and darkness lie, <br />If but within our bosom's bound <br />We hold a bright, untroubled sky, <br />Warm with ten thousand mingled rays <br />Of suns that know no winter days? <br /> <br />Reason, indeed, may oft complain <br />For Nature's sad reality, <br />And tell the suffering heart, how vain <br />Its cherished dreams must always be; <br />And Truth may rudely trample down <br />The flowers of Fancy, newly-blown: <br /> <br />But, thou art ever there, to bring <br />The hovering vision back, and breathe <br />New glories o'er the blighted spring, <br />And call a lovelier Life from Death, <br />And whisper, with a voice divine, <br />Of real worlds, as bright as thine. <br /> <br />I trust not to thy phantom bliss, <br />Yet, still, in evening's quiet hour, <br />With never-failing thankfulness, <br />I welcome thee, Benignant Power; <br />Sure solacer of human cares, <br />And sweeter hope, when hope despairs!<br /><br />Emily Jane Brontë<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-imagination/
