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Charlotte Bronte - Presentiment
Work rating: Medium

" Sister, you`ve sat there all the day,
  Come to the hearth awhile;
The wind so wildly sweeps away,
  The clouds so darkly pile.
That open book has lain, unread,
  For hours upon your knee;
You`ve never smiled nor turned your head
  What can you, sister, see ? " 

" Come hither, Jane, look down the field;
  How dense a mist creeps on !
The path, the hedge, are both concealed,
  Ev`n the white gate is gone;
No landscape through the fog I trace,
  No hill with pastures green;
All featureless is nature`s face,
  All masked in clouds her mien. 

" Scarce is the rustle of a leaf
  Heard in our garden now;
The year grows old, its days wax brief,
  The tresses leave its brow.
The rain drives fast before the wind,
  The sky is blank and grey;
O Jane, what sadness fills the mind
  On such a dreary day ! " 

" You think too much, my sister dear;
  You sit too long alone;
What though November days be drear ?
  Full soon will they be gone.
I`ve swept the hearth, and placed your chair,
  Come, Emma, sit by me;
Our own fireside is never drear,
Though late and wintry wane the year,
  Though rough the night may be." 

" The peaceful glow of our fireside
  Imparts no peace to me:
My thoughts would rather wander wide
  Than rest, dear Jane, with thee.
I`m on a distant journey bound,
  And if, about my heart,
Too closely kindred ties were bound,
  `T would break when forced to part. 

" ` Soon will November days be o`er: `
  Well have you spoken, Jane:
My own forebodings tell me more,
For me, I know by presage sure,
  They`ll ne`er return again.
Ere long, nor sun nor storm to me
  Will bring or joy or gloom;
They reach not that Eternity
  Which soon will be my home." 

Eight months are gone, the summer sun
  Sets in a glorious sky;
A quiet field, all green and lone,
  Receives its rosy dye.
Jane sits upon a shaded stile,
  Alone she sits there now;
Her head rests on her hand the while,
  And thought o`ercasts her brow. 

She`s thinking of one winter`s day,
  A few short months ago,
When Emma`s bier was borne away
  O`er wastes of frozen snow.
She`s thinking how that drifted snow
  Dissolved in spring`s first gleam,
And how her sister`s memory now
  Fades, even as fades a dream. 

The snow will whiten earth again,
  But Emma comes no more;
She left, `mid winter`s sleet and rain,
  This world for Heaven`s far shore.
On Beulah`s hills she wanders now,
  On Eden`s tranquil plain;
To her shall Jane hereafter go,
  She ne`er shall come to Jane !
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