Dreams
While on my lonely couch I lie,
I seldom feel myself alone,
For fancy fills my dreaming eye With scenes and pleasures of its own.
Then I may cherish at my breast An infant's form beloved and fair,
May smile and soothe it into rest With all a Mother's fondest care.
How sweet to feel its helpless form Depending thus on me alone!
And while I hold it safe and warm What bliss to think it is my own!
And glances then may meet my eyes That daylight never showed to me;
What raptures in my bosom rise,
Those earnest looks of love to see,
To feel my hand so kindly prest,
To know myself beloved at last,
To think my heart has found a rest,
My life of solitude is past!
But then to wake and find it flown,
The dream of happiness destroyed,
To find myself unloved, alone,
What tongue can speak the dreary void?
Anne Bronte
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Though bleak these woods, and damp the ground, With fallen leaves so thickly strewn, And cold the wind that wanders With wild and melancholy moan;
