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Слушать(AI)Night
I love the silent hour of night,
For blissful dreams may then arise,
Revealing to my charmed sight What may not bless my waking eyes.
And then a voice may meet my ear,
That death has silenced long ago;
And hope and rapture may appear Instead of solitude and woe.
Cold in the grave for years has lain The form it was my bliss to see;
And only dreams can bring again,
The darling of my heart to me.
Anne Bronte
Anne Brontë (17 January 1820 – 28 May 1849) was an English novelist and poet, the youngest member of the Brontë literary family.
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The Consolation
Though bleak these woods and damp the With fallen leaves so thickly strewn, And cold the wind that wanders With wild and melancholy moan,
Verses to a Child
1 O raise those eyes to me And smile again so joyously, And fear not, love; it was not Nor grief that drew these tears from me;
I hoped that with the brave and strong
I hoped, that with the brave and strong, My portioned task might lie; To toil amid the busy throng, With purpose pure and high
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,
