Frances (Charlotte Bronte Poem)
SHE will not sleep, for fear of dreams, But, rising, quits her restless bed, And walks where some beclouded beams ...
SHE will not sleep, for fear of dreams, But, rising, quits her restless bed, And walks where some beclouded beams ...
IF thou be in a lonely place, If one hour's calm be thine, As Evening bends her placid face O'er ...
WE take from life one little share, And say that this shall be A space, redeemed from toil and care, ...
I've quenched my lamp, I struck it in that start Which every limb convulsed, I heard it fall The crash ...
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