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Come hither child

 Come hither, child--who gifted thee 
With power to touch that string so well? 
How darest thou rouse up thoughts in me, 
Thoughts that I would--but cannot quell?

Nay, chide not, lady; long ago 
I heard those notes in Ula's hall, 
And had I known they'd waken woe 
I'd weep their music to recall.
But thus it was: one festal night When I was hardly six years old I stole away from crowds and light And sought a chamber dark and cold.
I had no one to love me there, I knew no comrade and no friend; And so I went to sorrow where Heaven, only heaven saw me bend.
Loud blew the wind; 'twas sad to stay From all that splendour barred away.
I imaged in the lonely room A thousand forms of fearful gloom.
And with my wet eyes raised on high I prayed to God that I might die.
Suddenly in that silence drear A sound of music reached my ear, And then a note, I hear it yet, So full of soul, so deeply sweet, I thought that Gabriel's self had come To take me to thy father's home.
Three times it rose, that seraph strain, Then died, nor breathed again; But still the words and still the tone Dwell round my heart when all alone.

by Emily Bronte
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