by Emily Brontë (1818 - 1848)

I know not how it falls on me
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]1 the strong, 
And who can fight against despair?

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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: 51