by Emily Brontë (1818 - 1848)

I know not how it falls on me
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Language: English 
I know not how it falls on me, 
This summer evening, hushed and lone; 
Yet the faint wind comes soothingly 
With something of an olden tone.

Forgive me if I've shunned so long 
Your gentle greeting, earth and air! 
But sorrow withers e'en the strong, 
And who can fight against despair?

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•   E. Bacon 

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Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]

This text was added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.
Line count: 8
Word count: 52