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Emily Jane Bronte - Mild the mist upon the hill
Work rating: Medium

Mild the mist upon the hill 
Telling not of storms tomorrow; 
No, the day has wept its fill, 
Spent its store of silent sorrow.

O, I`m gone back to the days of youth, 
I am a child once more, 
And `neath my father`s sheltering roof 
And near the old hall door

I watch this cloudy evening fall 
After a day of rain; 
Blue mists, sweet mists of summer pall 
The horizon`s mountain chain.

The damp stands on the long green grass 
As thick as morning`s tears, 
And dreamy scents of fragrance pass 
That breathe of other years.
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