Wuthering Heights
I
Heathcliff to Catherine
So cold are the moors.
Colder are the words that are yours.
Catherine you have chosen your own hue.
To you I am refused, alas a hue too blue.
Choose him, not me, your word condemns me.
I am a flea, and you the finest bee.
Oh Catherine you scorn the heart’s favors;
the fair meadowsweets we did once savor.
Your breath has me forever condemned,
And wishing for your caresses so gemmed.
Your words; foreign swords with murdering speed.
You struck me Catherine, now I must bleed.
As the plow does plunder those meadowsweets
I wonder if you ever heard my heartbeats.
Those mornings on the moor’s dew, I was yours.
No more of favors sweet. Now I endure.
Catherine your word is a javelin.
Your sentence, dagger of perjury.
I retire to mourning, dear Catherine
I surrender, freezing in this misery
I must heal this bleeding artery.
Alas I still beseech you, come to me!
You whose syllable is injury,
Turn back dear; and hear my pallid plea.
II
Heathcliff to Catherine
Haunt me, Cathy of cold lips.
If need be forevermore I will await.
Come Cathy, to my open window;
It sleets, its rains, yet wide it remains.
Come to me oh queen of larceny.
You who through flight my pleasure took.
Haunt me Cathy of cold lips.
Appear to me in form of specter;
In veils from my thoughts descending.
Larcener of Larceners
Injurer of Injurers.
Come Queen of cold lips!
III
Catherine to Heathcliff
I perjure. I love thee. Woe alas me.
Heathcliff, forgive injuries yester given
The tragedy: my life devoid of thee.
Decision led me to a horrid living;
betray you I did, yet I yearn you still.
The hours they passed, they danced. I mourned the past.
Heathcliff, my heart’s decree I must fulfill.
My love, I shall be by your side at last.
My tomb is cold, upon thin veils I roam.
It's me Cathy your injurer, oscine
Delirious and cold, At last I’ve come home.
Heathcliff, It’s me, your thief your queen.
Heathcliff I see your window, cold lover
And here, forevermore I shall hover.