Emily
I wonder as I contemplate,
your novel in my hand
How did such a thing your
mind create in that windswept Yorkshire land?
Your life, your breath forged onto every page
Your heart, your soul your pen defied the Age.
Her dark hair and his dark
eyes, now immortal in desire
Her passion, his rage, her
choice, his lies,
She the wind and he the fire
From whence did you learn of
such love and such hate?
Of loss and of revenge,
Of torment, and of fate?
Did the moors tell you secret
things as you walked upon them all alone?
That life is a type of fault,
and men’s hearts become as stone?
Did the things that you lost,
give you things only for you?
Or was it the wind brought
them, those fierce thoughts written true?
Those cold gray walls, that
rose up from the earth
Became your world and the
magical birth—
Of something eternal that
moves me still today
And like you, I am
happiest when I am most away.