Mild the mist upon the hill
Emily Brontë
1818 to 1848
Track 1
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As thick as morning's tears,
That breathe of other years.
And near the old hall door
The horizon's mountain chain.
No, the day has wept its fill,
Mild the mist upon the hill
Spent its store of silent sorrow.
And dreamy scents of fragrance pass
O, I'm gone back to the days of youth,
The damp stands on the long green grass
I am a child once more,
Telling not of storms tomorrow;
Blue mists, sweet mists of summer pall
After a day of rain;
I watch this cloudy evening fall
And 'neath my father's sheltering roof