Mild the mist upon the hill <br />Telling not of storms tomorrow; <br />No, the day has wept its fill, <br />Spent its store of silent sorrow. <br /> <br />O, I'm gone back to the days of youth, <br />I am a child once more, <br />And 'neath my father's sheltering roof <br />And near the old hall door <br /> <br />I watch this cloudy evening fall <br />After a day of rain; <br />Blue mists, sweet mists of summer pall <br />The horizon's mountain chain. <br /> <br />The damp stands on the long green grass <br />As thick as morning's tears, <br />And dreamy scents of fragrance pass <br />That breathe of other years.<br /><br />Emily Jane Brontë<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/mild-the-mist-upon-the-hill/
