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Yes holy be thy resting place

 Yes, holy be thy resting place
Wherever thou may'st lie;
The sweetest winds breathe on thy face,
The softest of the sky.
And will not guardian Angles send Kind dreams and thoughts of love, Though I no more may watchful bend Thy longed repose above? And will not heaven itself bestow A beam of glory there That summer's grass more green may grow, And summer's flowers more fair? Farewell, farewell, 'tis hard to part Yet, loved one, it must be: I would not rend another heart Not even by blessing thee.
Go! We must break affection's chain, Forget the hopes of years: Nay, grieve not - willest thou remain To waken wilder tears This herald breeze with thee and me, Roved in the dawning day: And thou shouldest be where it shall be Ere evening, far away.

Poem by Emily Brontë
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