In summer's mellow midnight, <br />A cloudless moon shone through <br />Our open parlour window, <br />And rose-trees wet with dew. <br /> <br />I sat in silent musing; <br />The soft wind waved my hair; <br />It told me heaven was glorious, <br />And sleeping earth was fair. <br /> <br />I needed not its breathing <br />To bring such thoughts to me; <br />But still it whispered lowly, <br />'How dark the woods would be! <br /> <br />'The thick leaves in my murmur <br />Are rustling like a dream, <br />And all their myriad voices <br />Instinct with spirit seem.' <br /> <br />I said, 'Go, gentle singer, <br />Thy wooing voice is kind: <br />But do not think its music <br />Has power to reach my mind. <br /> <br />'Play with the scented flower, <br />The young tree's supply bough, <br />And leave my human feelings <br />In their own course to flow.' <br /> <br />The wanderer would not heed me: <br />Its kiss grew warmer still: <br />'Oh Come!' it sighed so sweetly; <br />'I'll win thee 'gainst thy will. <br /> <br />'Were we not friends from childhood? <br />Have I not loved thee long? <br />As long as thou, the solemn night, <br />Whose silence wakes my song. <br /> <br />'And when thy heart is resting <br />Beneath the church-aisle stone, <br />I shall have time for mourning, <br />And thou for being alone.'<br /><br />Emily Jane Brontë<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-night-wind-2/
