The night of storms has past
High waving heather'neath stormy blasts bending,
Midnight and moonlight and bright shining stars;
Darkness and glory rejoicingly blending,
Each rising to heaven and heaven descending;
Man's spirit away from the drear dungeon sending,
Bursting the fetters and breaking the bars.
All down the mountain-sides wild forests lending
The mighty voice to the life-giving wind;
Rivers their banks in the jubilee bending,
Fast through the valleys a reckless course wending,
Wilder and deeper their waters extending,
Leaving a desolate desert behind.
Shining and lowering, and swelling and dying,
Changing for ever from midnight to noon;
Roaring like thunder, like soft music sighing,
Shadows on shadows advancing and flying;
Lightning-bright flashes the deep gloom defying,
Coming as swiftly and fading as soon.
Woods, you nedd not frown on me;
Spectral trees, that so dolefully
Shake your heads in the dreary sky,
You need not mock so bitterly.
The night of storms has past;
The sunshine bright and clear
Gives glory to the verdent waste,
And warms the breezy air.
And I would leave my bed,
Its cheering smile to see,
To chase the visions from my head,
Whose forms have toubled me.
In all the hours of gloom
My soul was rapt away;
I stood by a marble tomb
Where royal corpses lay.
It was just the time of eve,
When parted ghosts might come,
Above their prisoned dust to grieve
And wail their woeful doom.
And truly at my side
I saw a shadowy thing,
Most dim, and yet its presence there
[...] Read more
poem by Emily Brontë from The Complete Poems of Emily Brontë (1908)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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