1842 | Brussels
Phantom Rising
Emily Brontë
How do I love on summer nights
to sit within this Norman door,
Whose somber portal hides the lights
Thickening above me evermore!
How do I love to hear the flow
Of Aspin’s water murmuring low;
And hours long listen to the breeze
That sighs in Rockden’s waving trees.
Tonight, there is no wind to wake
One ripple on the lonely lake;
Tonight, the clouds subdued and gray
Starlight and moonlight shut away.
’Tis calm and still and almost drear,
So utter is the solitude;
But still I love to linger here
And form my mood to nature’s mood.
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