I do not weep; I would not weep; <br /> Our mother needs no tears: <br />Dry thine eyes, too; 'tis vain to keep <br /> This causeless grief for years. <br /> <br />What though her brow be changed and cold, <br /> Her sweet eyes closed for ever? <br />What though the stone-the darksome mould <br /> Our mortal bodies sever? <br /> <br />What though her hand smooth ne'er again <br /> Those silken locks of thine? <br />Nor, through long hours of future pain, <br /> Her kind face o'er thee shine? <br /> <br />Remember still, she is not dead; <br /> She sees us, sister, now; <br />Laid, where her angel spirit fled, <br /> 'Mid heath and frozen snow. <br /> <br />And from that world of heavenly light <br /> Will she not always bend <br />To guide us in our lifetime's night, <br /> And guard us to the end? <br /> <br />Thou knowest she will; and thou mayst mourn <br /> That we are left below: <br />But not that she can ne'er return <br /> To share our earthly woe.<br /><br />Emily Jane Brontë<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/encouragement-16/
