Poetic Interlude XCV

Lydia Gisborne

By Patrick Branwell Bront��

On Ouse’s grassy banks – last Whitsuntide,

I sat, with fears and pleasures, in my soul

Commingled, as ‘it roamed without control,’

O’er present hours and through a future wide

Where love, me thought, should keep, my heart beside

Her, whose own prison home I looked upon:

But, as I looked, descended summer’s sun,

And did not its descent my hopes deride?

The sky though blue was soon to change to grey -

I, on that day, next year must own no smile -

And as those waves, to Humber far away,

Were gliding – so, though that hour might beguile

My Hopes, they too, to woe’s far deeper sea,

Rolled past the shores of Joy’s now dim and distant isle.

Tagged: Lydia Gisborne, Patrick Branwell Bronte, Poetic Interludes, Poetry