Silent Poetry Reading for the Feast of St. Brigid

To Emily Bronte

The witch-owls call, black shadows fall
About my lonely way;
The wind sinks down, and ne'er a sound
Proclaims the passing day.

I am alone, all others gone
Into the warmth and light,
Again once more, as oft before,
I hear the voice of night.

For me alone those murmurs come
From the rustling woods;
For me alone the sea makes moan
Beneath his aching floods.

All interwove with jewelled love
Are beauty, joy and woe;
All one with me, the singing sea,
The grey sheep as they go.

~ Florence Cortis-Stanford
from An Anthology of Scottish Women Poets
by Catherine Kerrigan