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A Death - Scene

 "O day! he cannot die
When thou so fair art shining!
O Sun, in such a glorious sky,
So tranquilly declining; 

He cannot leave thee now,
While fresh west winds are blowing,
And all around his youthful brow
Thy cheerful light is glowing! 

Edward, awake, awake -
The golden evening gleams
Warm and bright on Arden's lake -
Arouse thee from thy dreams! 

Beside thee, on my knee,
My dearest friend! I pray
That thou, to cross the eternal sea,
Wouldst yet one hour delay: 

I hear its billows roar -
I see them foaming high;
But no glimpse of a further shore
Has blest my straining eye.
Believe not what they urge Of Eden isles beyond; Turn back, from that tempestuous surge, To thy own native land.
It is not death, but pain That struggles in thy breast - Nay, rally, Edward, rouse again; I cannot let thee rest!" One long look, that sore reproved me For the woe I could not bear - One mute look of suffering moved me To repent my useless prayer: And, with sudden check, the heaving Of distraction passed away; Not a sign of further grieving Stirred my soul that awful day.
Paled, at length, the sweet sun setting; Sunk to peace the twilight breeze: Summer dews fell softly, wetting Glen, and glade, and silent trees.
Then his eyes began to weary, Weighed beneath a mortal sleep; And their orbs grew strangely dreary, Clouded, even as they would weep.
But they wept not, but they changed not, Never moved, and never closed; Troubled still, and still they ranged not - Wandered not, nor yet reposed! So I knew that he was dying - Stooped, and raised his languid head; Felt no breath, and heard no sighing, So I knew that he was dead.

Poem by Emily Brontë
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