"A Poem for Friday, the Thirteenth" How oft in twilight, - TopicsExpress



          

"A Poem for Friday, the Thirteenth" How oft in twilight, lingering lone, I’ve stood to watch that phantom rise, And seen in mist and moonlit stone Its gleaming hair and solemn eyes. The ancient men, in secret, say ’Tis the first chief of Aspin gray That haunts his feudal home;But why, around that alien grave Three thousand miles beyond the wave, Where his exiled ashes lie Under the cope of England’s sky, Doth he not rather roam? I’ve seen his picture in the hall; It hangs upon an eastern wall, And often when the sun declines That picture like an angel shines; And when the moonbeam, chill and blue, Streams the spectral windows through, That picture’s like a specter too. --Emily Brontë
Posted on: Fri, 13 Sep 2013 18:09:09 +0000

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