Speak of the North! A lonely moor
Charlotte Brontë
1816 to 1855
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Speak of the North! A lonely moor
Silent and and tractless swells,
The waves of some wild streamlet
Hurriedly through its ferny dells.
Profoundly still the twilight air,
Lifeless the landscape; so we deem
Till like a gliding near
A stag bends down to drink the stream.
And far away a mountain zone,
A cold, white of snow-drifts lies,
And one star, large and soft lone,
Silently lights the unclouded skies.