Читать книгу Poems by Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell - Эмили Бронте, Brontë Charlotte - Страница 3

     Sit still – a word – a breath may break

     (As light airs stir a sleeping lake)

     The glassy calm that soothes my woes —

     The sweet, the deep, the full repose.

     O leave me not! for ever be

     Thus, more than life itself to me!

     Yes, close beside thee let me kneel —

     Give me thy hand, that I may feel

     The friend so true – so tried – so dear,

     My heart's own chosen – indeed is near;

     And check me not – this hour divine

     Belongs to me – is fully mine.

     'Tis thy own hearth thou sitt'st beside,

     After long absence – wandering wide;

     'Tis thy own wife reads in thine eyes

     A promise clear of stormless skies;

     For faith and true love light the rays

     Which shine responsive to her gaze.

     Ay, – well that single tear may fall;

     Ten thousand might mine eyes recall,

     Which from their lids ran blinding fast,

     In hours of grief, yet scarcely past;

     Well mayst thou speak of love to me,

     For, oh!  most truly – I love thee!

     Yet smile – for we are happy now.

     Whence, then, that sadness on thy brow?

     What sayst thou?" We muse once again,

     Ere long, be severed by the main!"

     I knew not this – I deemed no more

     Thy step would err from Britain's shore.

     "Duty commands!" 'Tis true – 'tis just;

     Thy slightest word I wholly trust,

     Nor by request, nor faintest sigh,

     Would I to turn thy purpose try;

     But, William, hear my solemn vow —

     Hear and confirm! – with thee I go.

     "Distance and suffering," didst thou say?

     "Danger by night, and toil by day?"

     Oh, idle words and vain are these;

     Hear me! I cross with thee the seas.

     Such risk as thou must meet and dare,

     I – thy true wife – will duly share.

     Passive, at home, I will not pine;

     Thy toils, thy perils shall be mine;

     Grant this – and be hereafter paid

     By a warm heart's devoted aid:

     'Tis granted – with that yielding kiss,

     Entered my soul unmingled bliss.

     Thanks, William, thanks! thy love has joy,

     Pure, undefiled with base alloy;

     'Tis not a passion, false and blind,

     Inspires, enchains, absorbs my mind;

     Worthy, I feel, art thou to be

     Loved with my perfect energy.

     This evening now shall sweetly flow,

     Lit by our clear fire's happy glow;

     And parting's peace-embittering fear,

     Is warned our hearts to come not near;

     For fate admits my soul's decree,

     In bliss or bale – to go with thee!