I will not mourn thee, lovely one, <br /> Though thou art torn away. <br />'Tis said that if the morning sun <br /> Arise with dazzling ray <br />And shed a bright and burning beam <br /> Athwart the glittering main, <br />'Ere noon shall fade that laughing gleam <br /> Engulfed in clouds and rain. <br /> <br />And if thy life as transient proved, <br /> It hath been full as bright, <br />For thou wert hopeful and beloved; <br /> Thy spirit knew no blight. <br /> <br />If few and short the joys of life <br /> That thou on earth couldst know, <br />Little thou knew'st of sin and strife <br /> Nor much of pain and woe. <br /> <br />If vain thy earthly hopes did prove, <br /> Thou canst not mourn their flight; <br />Thy brightest hopes were fixed above <br /> And they shall know no blight. <br /> <br />And yet I cannot check my sighs, <br /> Thou wert so young and fair, <br />More bright than summer morning skies, <br /> But stern death would not spare; <br /> <br />He would not pass our darling by <br /> Nor grant one hour's delay, <br />But rudely closed his shining eye <br /> And frowned his smile away, <br /> <br />That angel smile that late so much <br /> Could my fond heart rejoice; <br />And he has silenced by his touch <br /> The music of thy voice. <br /> <br />I'll weep no more thine early doom, <br /> But O! I still must mourn <br />The pleasures buried in thy tomb, <br /> For they will not return.<br /><br />Anne Brontë<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-12/
