Song of the Wind

Hush, let the calm wash over you
There is peace to be found
In the soft voice of the wind
It moves gently through the trees
And stirs the verdant leaves
Its song is one that soothes
And calms
And will take away all cares
The sadness in your heart
Shall soon be gone
Hush, listen and hear its song
The wild roar of the tempest
That did torment you will quieten
On its journey through the trees
They still the tempest in its path
And all will be peace and calm
Hush, let the calm wash over you
It shall release you
And quiet the restless stirrings
In your heart . . .

Poem by Dianne D ... ♥
Image courtesy of Des Boxall at Picasa Web Albums

Touch on Touch

Touch on touch
Softness on softness
Your kiss is just
A breath away
The anticipation
A wave of want
And longing
Comes over me
And sweeps me away
Your touch is like a ripple
On the pond of my soul
The stream of life flows
Between us, unstoppable
Warm and loving
Its effect is far reaching
And becomes a part of
My very being . . .

Poem: Dianne D ... ♥
Image: Pink Rose Free Wallpaper

Shall Earth No More Inspire Thee

Shall earth no more inspire thee,
Thou lonely dreamer now?
Since passion may not fire thee,
Shall nature cease to bow?

Thy mind is ever moving,
In regions dark to thee;
Recall its useless roving,
Come back, and dwell with me.

I know my mountain breezes
Enchant and soothe thee still,
I know my sunshine pleases,
Despite thy wayward will.

When day and evening blending,
Sinks from the summer sky,
I've seen the spirit bending
In fond idolatry.

I've watched thee every hour;
I know my mighty sway:
I know my magic power
To drive thy griefs away.

Few hearts to mortals given,
On earth so wildly pine;
Yet few would ask a heaven
More like this earth than thine.

Then let my winds caress thee
Thy comrade let me be:
Since nought beside can bless thee,
Return---and dwell with me.

Emily Brontë 1818 - 1848

Image: Still from Tess of the D'Urbervilles Masterpiece Classics- (Novel by Thomas Hardy)

A Little While, A Little While

A LITTLE while, a little while,
This weary task is put away,
And I can sing and I can smile,
Alike, while I have holiday.

Where wilt thou go, my harassed heart--
What thought, what scene invites thee now
What spot, or near or far apart,
Has rest for thee, my weary brow?

There is a spot, 'mid barren hills,
Where winter howls, and driving rain;
But, if the dreary tempest chills,
There is a light that warms again.

The house is old, the trees are bare,
Moonless above bends twilight's dome;
But what on earth is half so dear--
So longed for--as the hearth of home?

The mute bird sitting on the stone,
The dank moss dripping from the wall,
The thorn-trees gaunt, the walks o'ergrown,
I love them--how I love them all!

Still, as I mused, the naked room,
The alien firelight died away;
And from the midst of cheerless gloom,
I passed to bright, unclouded day.

A little and a lone green lane
That opened on a common wide;
A distant, dreamy, dim blue chain
Of mountains circling every side.

A heaven so clear, an earth so calm,
So sweet, so soft, so hushed an air;
And, deepening still the dream-like charm,
Wild moor-sheep feeding everywhere.

That was the scene, I knew it well;
I knew the turfy pathway's sweep,
That, winding o'er each billowy swell,
Marked out the tracks of wandering sheep.

Could I have lingered but an hour,
It well had paid a week of toil;
But Truth has banished Fancy's power:
Restraint and heavy task recoil.

Even as I stood with raptured eye,
Absorbed in bliss so deep and dear,
My hour of rest had fleeted by,
And back came labour, bondage, care.

Emily Jane Brontë - 1818 - 1848

The preceding poem was composed at twilight, in the school room, when the leisure of the evening play-hour brought back in full tide the thoughts of home.

I have included a link here to Poet's Corner, it contains a brief and personal narrative of the short life of Emily Brontë written thoughtfully by her sister Charlotte.

Image: A view from Brontë Way towards Haworth, Photograph by Tim Green via Flickr (Creative Commons)