Lines Written From Home by Anne Bronte

Though bleak these woods, and damp the ground

With fallen leaves so thickly strown,

And cold the wind that wanders round

With wild and melancholy moan;

There is a friendly roof, I know,

Might shield me from the wintry blast;

There is a fire, whose ruddy glow

Will cheer me for my wanderings past.

And so, though still, where'er I go,

Cold stranger-glances meet my eye;

Though, when my spirit sinks in woe,

Unheeded swells the unbidden sigh;

Though solitude, endured too long,

Bids youthful joys too soon decay,

Makes mirth a stranger to my tongue,

And overclouds my noon of day;

When kindly thoughts, that would have way,

Flow back discouraged to my breast; --

I know there is, though far away,

A home where heart and soul may rest.

Warm hands are there, that, clasped in mine,

The warmer heart will not belie;

While mirth, and truth, and friendship shine

In smiling lip and earnest eye.

The ice that gathers round my heart

May there be thawed; and sweetly, then,

The joys of youth, that now depart,

Will come to cheer my soul again.

Though far I roam, that thought shall be

My hope, my comfort, everywhere;While such a home remains to me,

My heart shall never know despair!

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