letra de emily bronte - death, that struck when i was most confiding - ghizela rowe
death! that struck when i was most confiding
in my certain faith of joy to be—
strike again, time’s withered branch dividing
from the fresh root of eternity!
leaves, upon time’s branch, were growing brightly
full of sap, and full of silver dew;
birds beneath its shelter gathered nightly;
daily round its flowers the wild bees flew
sorrow passed, and plucked the golden blossom;
guilt stripped off the foliage in its pride
but, within its parent’s kindly bosom
flowed for ever life’s restoring tide
littlе mourned i for the parted gladnеss
for the vacant nest and silent song—
hope was there, and laughed me out of sadness;
whispering, “winter will not linger long!”
and, behold! with tenfold increase blessing
spring adorned the beauty-burdened spray;
wind and rain and fervent heat, caressing
lavished glory on that second may!
high it rose—no winged grief could sweep it;
sin was scared to distance with its shine;
love, and its own life, had power to keep it
from all wrong—from every blight but thine!
cruel death! the young leaves droop and languish;
evening’s gentle air may still restore—
no! the morning sunshine mocks my anguish-
time, for me, must never blossom more!
strike it down, that other boughs may flourish
where that perished sapling used to be;
thus, at least, its mouldering corpse will nourish
that from which it sprung—eternity
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