my first

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she was on the window,
I was on the way.
she was busy,
I not.
she looked,
I loved.
as evening mist had made
the time colder,
she made me warmer.
she was smiling,
her smile was visible
in the low dim light though,
she noticed,
I confirmed.
again she smiled,
I reflected back.



I lingered round them, under that benign sky: watched the moths fluttering among the heath and harebells, listened to the soft wind breathing through the grass, and wondered how any one could ever imagine unquiet slumbers for the sleepers in that quiet earth.
— Emily Bronte, Wuthering Heights