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Lines Written From Home

 Though bleak these woods, and damp the ground
With fallen leaves so thickly strown,
And cold the wind that wanders round
With wild and melancholy moan; 
There is a friendly roof, I know,
Might shield me from the wintry blast;
There is a fire, whose ruddy glow
Will cheer me for my wanderings past.
And so, though still, where'er I go, Cold stranger-glances meet my eye; Though, when my spirit sinks in woe, Unheeded swells the unbidden sigh; Though solitude, endured too long, Bids youthful joys too soon decay, Makes mirth a stranger to my tongue, And overclouds my noon of day; When kindly thoughts, that would have way, Flow back discouraged to my breast; -- I know there is, though far away, A home where heart and soul may rest.
Warm hands are there, that, clasped in mine, The warmer heart will not belie; While mirth, and truth, and friendship shine In smiling lip and earnest eye.
The ice that gathers round my heart May there be thawed; and sweetly, then, The joys of youth, that now depart, Will come to cheer my soul again.
Though far I roam, that thought shall be My hope, my comfort, everywhere; While such a home remains to me, My heart shall never know despair!

by Anne Bronte
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