The wind was rough which tore <br />That leaf from its parent tree <br />The fate was cruel which bore <br />The withering corpse to me <br /> <br />We wander on we have no rest <br />It is a dreary way <br /> <br />What shadow is it <br />That ever moves before [my] eyes <br />It has a brow of ghostly whiteness<br /><br />Emily Jane Brontë<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-wind-was-rough-which-tore/
