I'll rest me in this sheltered bower, <br />And look upon the clear blue sky <br />That smiles upon me through the trees, <br />Which stand so thickly clustering by; <br />And view their green and glossy leaves, <br />All glistening in the sunshine fair; <br />And list the rustling of their boughs, <br />So softly whispering through the air. <br /> <br />And while my ear drinks in the sound, <br />My winged soul shall fly away; <br />Reviewing long departed years <br />As one mild, beaming, autumn day; <br /> <br />And soaring on to future scenes, <br />Like hills and woods, and valleys green, <br />All basking in the summer's sun, <br />But distant still, and dimly seen. <br /> <br />Oh, list! 'tis summer's very breath <br />That gently shakes the rustling trees - <br />But look! the snow is on the ground - <br />How can I think of scenes like these? <br /> <br />'Tis but the frost that clears the air, <br />And gives the sky that lovely blue; <br />They're smiling in a winter's sun, <br />Those evergreens of sombre hue. <br /> <br />And winter's chill is on my heart - <br />How can I dream of future bliss? <br />How can my spirit soar away, <br />Confined by such a chain as this?<br /><br />Anne Brontë<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-arbour/
