Two butterflies went out at noon
And waltzed above a stream,
Then stepped straight through the firmament
And rested on a beam;
And then together bore away
Upon a shining sea,--
Though never yet, in any port
Their coming mentioned be.
If spoken by the distant bird,
If met in ether sea
By frigate or by merchantman
Report was not to me.
hope...by emily jane bronte
hope was but a timid friend;
she sat without the grated den,
watching how my fate would tend,
even as selfish-hearted men.
she was cruel in her fear;
through the bars, one dreary day,
i looked out to see her there,
and away she turned her face away!
like a false watch keeping,
still, in strife, she whispered peace;
she would sing while i was weeping;
if i listened, she would cease.
false she was, and unrelenting;
when my last joys strewed the ground,
even sorrow saw, repenting,
those sad relics scattered round:
hope, whose whisper would have given
balm to all my frenzied pain,
stretched her wings, and soared to heaven,
went, and ne'er returned again!
Two butterflies went out at noon
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