lirik lagu anna bentinick - charlotte bronte - the letter
what is she writing? watch her now
how fast her fingers move !
how eagerly her youthful brow
is bent in thought above !
her long curls, drooping, shade the light
she puts them quick aside
nor knows, that band of crystals bright
her hasty touch untied
it slips adown her silken dress
falls glittering at her feet;
unmarked it falls, for she no less
pursues her labour sweet
the very loveliest hour that shines
is in that deep blue sky;
the golden sun of june declines
it has not caught her eye
thе cheerful lawn, and unclosed gate
the whitе road, far away
in vain for her light footsteps wait
she comes not forth to~day
there is an open door of glass
close by that lady’s chair
from thence, to slopes of mossy grass
descends a marble stair
tall plants of bright and spicy bloom
around the threshold grow;
their leaves and blossoms shade the room
from that sun’s deepening glow
why does she not a moment glance
between the cl~stering flowers
and mark in heaven the radiant dance
of evening’s rosy hours ?
o look again ! still fixed her eye
unsmiling, earnest, still
and fast her pen and fingers fly
urged by her eager will
her soul is in th’ absorbing task;
to whom, then, doth she write ?
nay, watch her still more closely, ask
her own eyes’ serious light;
where do they turn, as now her pen
hangs o’er th’ unfinished line ?
whence fell the tearful gleam that then
did in their dark spheres shine ?
the summer~parlour looks so dark
when from that sky you turn
and from th’ expanse of that green park
you scarce may aught discern
yet o’er the piles of porcelain rare
o’er flower~stand, couch, and vase
sloped, as if leaning on the air
one picture meets the gaze
’tis there she turns; you may not see
distinct, what form defines
the clouded mass of mystery
yon broad gold frame confines
but look again; inured to shade
your eyes now faintly trace
a stalwart form, a massive head
a firm, determined face
black spanish locks, a sunburnt cheek
a brow high, broad, and white
where every furrow seems to speak
of mind and moral might
is that her god ? i cannot tell;
her eye a moment met
th’ impending picture, then it fell
darkened and dimmed and wet
a moment more, her task is done
and sealed the letter lies;
and now, towards the setting sun
she turns her tearful eyes
those tears flow over, wonder not
for by the inscription, see
in what a strange and distant spot
her heart of hearts must be !
three seas and many a league of land
that letter must pass o’er
e’er read by him to whose loved hand
’tis sent from england’s shore
remote colonial wilds detain
her husband, loved though stern;
she, ‘mid that smiling english scene
weeps for his wished return
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