Reason, indeed, may oft complain — Emily Brontë

"What use is it to slumber here: Though the heart be sad and weary? What use is it to slumber here Though the day rise dark and dreary?"

"For that mist may break when the sun is high And this soul forget its sorrow And the rose ray of the closing day May promise a brighter morrow."

"Ive watched thee every hour — I know my mighty sway — I know my magic power To drive thy griefs away —"

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

"What matters it, that, all around, Danger, and guilt, and darkness lie, If but within our bosoms bound We hold a bright, untroubled sky, Warm with ten thousand mingled rays Of suns that know no winter days?"

"Then let my winds caress thee — Thy comrade let me be — Since naught beside can bless thee Return and dwell with me —"