Domestic Peace
Why
should
such
gloomy
silence
reign,
And
why
is
all
the
house
so
drear,
When
neither
danger,
sickness,
pain,
Nor
death,
nor
want,
have
entered
here?
We
are
as
many
as
we
were
That
other
night,
when
all
were
gay
And
full
of
hope,
and
free
from
care;
Yet
is
there
something
gone
away.
The
moon
without,
as
pure
and
calm,
Is
shining
as
that
night
she
shone;
But
now,
to
us,
she
brings
no
balm,
For
something
from
our
hearts
is
gone.
Something
whose
absence
leaves
a
void—
A
cheerless
want
in
every
heart;
Each
feels
the
bliss
of
all
destroyed,
And
mourns
the
change—but
each
apart.
The
fire
is
burning
in
the
grate
As
redly
as
it
used
to
burn;
But
still
the
hearth
is
desolate,
Till
mirth,
and
love,
and
PEACE
return.
'Twas
PEACE
that
flowed
from
heart
to
heart,
With
looks
and
smiles
that
spoke
of
heaven,
And
gave
us
language
to
impart
The
blissful
thoughts
itself
had
given.
Domestic
peace!
best
joy
of
earth,
When
shall
we
all
thy
value
learn?
White
angel,
to
our
sorrowing
hearth,
Return—oh,
graciously
return!
Anne Brontë
Anne Brontë, (born Jan. 17, 1820, Thornton, Yorkshire, Eng.—died May 28, 1849, Scarborough, Yorkshire), English poet and novelist, sister of Charlotte and Emily Brontë and author of Agnes Grey (1847) and The Tenant of Wildfell Hall (1848).