A Little While, A Little While
A little while, a little while,
The noisy crowd are barred away;
And I can sing and I can smile,
A little while I've holiday!
Where wilt thou go, my harassed heart?
Full many a land invites thee now;
And places near, and 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
And Moonless above bends the misty 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 garden-walk with weeds o'ergrown
I love them - how I love them all!
Shall I go there? or shall I seek
Another clime, another sky.
Where tongues familiar music speak
In accents dear to memory?
Yes, as I mused, the naked room,
The flickering 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 dreamlike charm,
Wild moor-sheep feeding everywhere -
That was the scene - I knew it well
I knew the pathways far and near
That winding o'er each billowy swell
Marked out the tracks of wandering deer
Could I have lingred but an hour
It well had paid a week of toil
But truth has banished fancy's power
I hear my dungeon bars recoil -
Even as I stood with raptured eye
Absorbed in bliss so deep and dear
My hour of rest had fleeted by
And given me back to weary care | Song (My Lady's Grave)
The linnet in the rocky dells,
The moor-lark in the air,
The bee among the heather bells,
That hide my lady fair:
The wild deer browse above her breast;
The wild birds raise their brood;
And they, her smiles of love caressed,
Have left her solitude!
I ween, that when the grave's dark wall
Did first her form retain;
They thought their hearts could ne'er recall
The light of joy again.
They thought the tide of grief would flow
Unchecked through future years;
But where is all their anguish now,
And where are all their tears?
Well, let them fight for honour's breath,
Or pleasure's shade pursue--
The dweller in the land of death
Is changed and careless too.
And, if their eyes should watch and weep
Till sorrow's source were dry,
She would not, in her tranquil sleep,
Return a single sigh!
Blow, west-wind, by the lonely mound,
And murmur, summer-streams--
There is no need of other sound
To soothe my lady's dreams. | Spellbound
The night is darkening round me
The wild winds coldly blow
But a tyrant spell has bound me
And I cannot cannot go
The giant trees are bending
Their bare boughs weighed with snow
And the storm is fast descending
And yet I cannot go.
Clouds beyond clouds above me
Wastes beyond wastes below
But nothing drear can move me
I will not cannot go.
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Three poems by Emily Brontë: Spellbound (1), A little while a little while (2) and My Lady's Grave (3) are the inspiration behind Michel Lambert's free jazz album 'Unclouded Day':
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