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Emily Jane Bronte - Holyday
Work rating: Low

      A LITTLE while, a little while,
      The noisy crowd are barred away;
      And I can sing and I can smile
      A little while I`ve holyday!

      Where wilt thou go, my harrased heart?
      Full many a land invites thee now;
      And places near and far apart
      Have rest for thee, my weary brow.

      There is a spot `mid barren hills
      Where winter howls and driving rain,
      But if the weary tempest chills
      There is a light that warms again.

      The house is old, the trees are bare,
      And moonless bends the misty dome,
      But what on earth is half so dear,
      So longed for as the hearth of home?

      The mute bird sitting on the stone,
      The dank moss dripping from the wall,
      The garden walk with weeds o`ergrown,
      I love them--how I love them all!

      Yes, as I mused, the naked room,
      The flickering firelight died away,
      And from the midst of cheerless gloom
      I passed to bright, unclouded day--

      A little and a lone green lane
      That opened on a common wide;
      A distant, dreary, dim blue chain
      Of mountains circling every side;

      A heaven so clear, an earth so calm,
      So sweet, so soft, so hushed an air
      And, deepening still the dream-like charm,
      Wild moor-sheep feeding everywhere--

      That was the scene; I knew it well,
      I knew the path-ways far and near
      That, winding o`er each billowy swell,
      Marked out the tracks of wandering deer.

      Could I have lingered but an hour
      It well had paid a week of toil,
      But truth has banished fancy`s power;
      I hear my dungeon bars recoil--

      Even as I stood with raptured eye,
      Absorbed in bliss, so deep and dear,
      My hour of rest had fleeted by
      And given me back to weary care
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