"STILL let my tyrants know, I am not doom'd to wear

Year after year in gloom and desolate despair;

A messenger of Hope comes every night to me,

And offers for short life, eternal liberty.

He comes withWestern winds, with evening's wandering airs,

With that clear dusk of heaven that brings the thickest stars:

Winds take a pensive tone, and stars a tender fire,

And visions rise, and change, that kill me with desire.

... "

( the prisioner - emily bronte ).