All overgrown by cunning moss, All interspersed with weed, The little cage of "Currer Bell" In quiet "Haworth" laid. This Bird - observing others When frosts too sharp became Retire to other latitudes - Quietly did the same -
But differed in returning - Since Yorkshire hills are green - Yet not in all the nests I meet - Can Nightingale be seen -
Or, Gathered from many wanderings - Gethsemane can tell Thro' what transporting anguish She reached the Asphodel!
Soft fall the sounds of Eden Upon her puzzled ear - Oh what an afternoon for Heaven, When "Bronte" entered there!
Commenti