Poems by Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell

I'll not weep that thou art going to leave me,
     There's nothing lovely here;
     And doubly will the dark world grieve me,
     While thy heart suffers there.

     I'll not weep, because the summer's glory
     Must always end in gloom;
     And, follow out the happiest story—
     It closes with a tomb!

     And I am weary of the anguish
     Increasing winters bear;
     Weary to watch the spirit languish
     Through years of dead despair.

     So, if a tear, when thou art dying,
     Should haply fall from me,
     It is but that my soul is sighing,
     To go and rest with thee.