A little while, a little while, <br />The weary task is put away, <br />And I can sing and I can smile, <br />Alike, while I have holiday. <br /> <br />Why wilt thou go, my harassed heart, <br />What thought, what scene invites thee now? <br />What spot, or near or far, <br />Has rest for thee, my weary brow? <br /> <br />There is a spot, mid barren hills, <br />Where winter howls, and driving rain; <br />But if the dreary tempest chills, <br />There is a light that warms again. <br /> <br />The house is old, the trees are bare, <br />Moonless above bends twilight's dome; <br />But what on earth is half so dear, <br />So longed for, as the hearth of home? <br /> <br />The mute bird sitting on the stone, <br />The dank moss dripping from the wall, <br />The thorn-trees gaunt, the walks o'ergrown, <br />I love them, how I love them all! <br /> <br />Still, as I mused, the naked room, <br />The alien firelight died away, <br />And from the midst of cheerless gloom <br />I passed to bright unclouded day. <br /> <br />A little and a lone green lane <br />That opened on a common wide; <br />A distant, dreamy, dim blue chain <br />Of mountains circling every side; <br /> <br />A heaven so clear, an earth so calm, <br />So sweet, so soft, so hushed an air; <br />And, deepening still the dream-like charm, <br />Wild moor-sheep feeding everywhere. <br /> <br />That was the scene, I knew it well; <br />I knew the turfy pathway's sweep <br />That, winding o'er each billowy swell, <br />Marked out the tracks of wandering sheep. <br /> <br />Even as I stood with raptured eye, <br />Absorbed in bliss so deep and dear, <br />My hour of rest had fleeted by, <br />And back came labour, bondage, care.<br /><br />Emily Jane Brontë<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-little-while-a-little-while-4/
