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An Orphans Lament

 She's gone -- and twice the summer's sun
Has gilt Regina's towers,
And melted wild Angora's snows,
And warmed Exina's bowers.
The flowerets twice on hill and dale Have bloomed and died away, And twice the rustling forest leaves Have fallen to decay, And thrice stern winter's icy hand Has checked the river's flow, And three times o'er the mountains thrown His spotless robe of snow.
Two summers springs and autumns sad Three winters cold and grey -- And is it then so long ago That wild November day! They say such tears as children weep Will soon be dried away, That childish grief however strong Is only for a day, And parted friends how dear soe'er Will soon forgotten be; It may be so with other hearts, It is not thus with me.
My mother, thou wilt weep no more For thou art gone above, But can I ever cease to mourn Thy good and fervent love? While that was mine the world to me Was sunshine bright and fair; No feeling rose within my heart But thou couldst read it there.
And thou couldst feel for all my joys And all my childish cares And never weary of my play Or scorn my foolish fears.
Beneath thy sweet maternal smile All pain and sorrow fled, And even the very tears were sweet Upon thy bosom shed.
Thy loss can never be repaired; I shall not know again While life remains, the peaceful joy That filled my spirit then.
Where shall I find a heart like thine While life remains to me, And where shall I bestow the love I ever bore for thee?

Poem by Anne Bronte
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