Poems by Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell

 Silent is the house: all are laid asleep:
     One alone looks out o'er the snow-wreaths deep,
     Watching every cloud, dreading every breeze
     That whirls the wildering drift, and bends the groaning trees.

     Cheerful is the hearth, soft the matted floor;
     Not one shivering gust creeps through pane or door;
     The little lamp burns straight, its rays shoot strong and far:
     I trim it well, to be the wanderer's guiding-star.

     Frown, my haughty sire! chide, my angry dame!
     Set your slaves to spy; threaten me with shame:
     But neither sire nor dame, nor prying serf shall know,
     What angel nightly tracks that waste of frozen snow.

     What I love shall come like visitant of air,
     Safe in secret power from lurking human snare;
     What loves me, no word of mine shall e'er betray,
     Though for faith unstained my life must forfeit pay

     Burn, then, little lamp; glimmer straight and clear—
     Hush! a rustling wing stirs, methinks, the air:
     He for whom I wait, thus ever comes to me;
     Strange Power! I trust thy might; trust thou my constancy.