Emily Brontë
Emily Brontë
Emily Brontë
Emily Brontë
Emily Brontë
Emily Brontë
Emily Brontë
Emily Brontë
Emily Brontë
Emily Brontë
Emily Brontë
Emily Brontë
Emily Brontë
Emily Brontë
Emily Brontë
Emily Brontë
Emily Brontë
Emily Brontë
Emily Brontë
Emily Brontë
Emily Brontë
Emily Brontë
Emily Brontë
Emily Brontë
Emily Brontë
Emily Brontë
Emily Brontë
Emily Brontë
Emily Brontë
Emily Brontë
Emily Brontë
Emily Brontë
Emily Brontë
Emily Brontë
Emily Brontë
Emily Brontë
Emily Brontë
Emily Brontë
Emily Brontë
Emily Brontë
Emily Brontë
Emily Brontë
Emily Brontë
Emily Brontë
Emily Brontë
Emily Brontë
Emily Brontë
Emily Brontë
Emily Brontë
Emily Brontë
Emily Brontë
Emily Brontë
Emily Brontë
Emily Brontë
Emily Brontë
Emily Brontë
Emily Brontë
Emily Brontë
Emily Brontë
Emily Brontë
Emily Brontë
Emily Brontë
Emily Brontë
Emily Brontë
Emily Brontë
Emily Brontë
'Tis moonlight, summer moonlight,
All soft and still and fair;
The solemn hour of midnight
Breathes sweet thoughts everywhere,
But most where trees are sending
Their breezy boughs on high,
Or stooping low are lending
A shelter from the sky.
And there in those wild bowers
A lovely form is laid;
Green grass and dew-steeped flowers
Wave gently round her head.