 How brightly glistening in the sun the woodland ivy plays, while yonder beaches from their barks reflect his silver rays, that sun surveys a lovely scene, from softly smiling skies, and wildly through unnumbered trees the wind of winter sighs. Now loud it thunders o'er my head, and now in distance dies, but give me back my barren hills where colder breezes rise, where scares the scattered stunted trees can yield an answering swell, but where wilderness of heath returns the sound as well. For yonder garden, fair and wide, with groves of evergreen, long winding walks and border trim and velvet lawns between, restore to me that little spot with gray walls come past round, where knotted grass-neclected lies and weeds usurp the ground, though all around this mansion high invites the foot to roam, and though its halls are fair within, oh, give me back my home, and of poem, this recording is in the public domain. How brightly glistening in the sun the woodland ivy plays, while yonder beaches from their barks reflect his silver rays, that sun surveys a lovely scene, from softly smiling skies, and wildly through unnumbered trees the wind of winter sighs. Now loud it thunders o'er my head, and now in distance dies, but give me back my barren hills where colder breezes rise, where scares the scattered stunted trees can yield an answering swell, but where a wilderness of heath returns the sound as well. For yonder garden, fair and wide, with groves of evergreen, long winding walks and border trim and velvet lawns between, restore me to that little spot with gray walls come past round, where knotted grass-neclected lies and weeds usurp the ground, though all around this mansion high invites the foot to roam, and though its halls are fair within, oh, give me back my home. How brightly glistening in the sun the woodland ivy plays, while yonder beaches from their barks reflect his silver rays, that sun surveys a lovely scene, from softly smiling skies, and wildly through unnumbered trees the wind of winter sighs. Now loud it thunders o'er my head, and now in distance dies, but give me back my barren hills where colder breezes rise, where scares the scattered stunted trees can yield an answering swell, but where a wilderness of heath returns the sound as well. For yonder garden, fair and wide, with groves of evergreen, long winding walks and border trim and velvet lawns between, restore me to that little spot with gray walls come past round, though all around this mansion high invites the foot to roam, and though its halls are fair within, oh, give me back my home. How brightly glistening in the sun the woodland ivy plays, while yonder beaches from their barks reflect his silver rays, that sun surveys a lovely scene, from softly smiling skies, and wildly through unnumbered trees the wind of winter sighs. Now loud it thunders o'er my head, and now in distance dies, but give me back my barren hills where colder breezes rise, where scares the scattered stunted trees can yield an answering swell, but where a wilderness of heath returns the sound as well. For yonder garden, fair and wide, with groves of evergreen, long winding walks and borders trim and velvet lawns between, restore to me that little spot with gray walls come past round, where knotted grass neglected lies and weeds usurp the ground, though all around this mansion high invites the foot to roam, and though its halls are fair within, oh, give me back my home. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Home by Anne Bronte, led for LibriVox.org by Breathe, Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. How brightly glistening in the sun the woodland ivy plays, while yonder beaches from their barks reflect his silver rays, that sun surveys a lovely scene from softly smiling skies, and wildly through unnumbered threes the wind of winter sighs. Now loud it thunders o'er my head, and now in distance dies, but give me back my barren hills, where colder breezes rise, where scarce, discattered, stunted trees can yield an answering swell, but where wilderness of heath returns a sound as well. For yonder garden, fair and wide, with groves of evergreen, long winding walks and border's trim and velvet lawns between. Restore to me that little spot, with grey walls compassed round, where knotted grass neglected lies, and weeds usurp the ground. Through all around this mansion high invites the foot to roam, and though its halls are fair within, oh, give me back my home, end of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Home by Anne Bronte, read for LibriVox.org by Icy Jumbo. How brightly glistening in the sun the woodland ivy plays, while yonder beaches from their barks reflect his silver rays, that sun surveys a lovely scene from softly smiling skies, and wildly through unnumbered trees the wind of winter sighs. Now loud its thunders o'er my head, and now in distance dies. But give me back my barren hills, where colder breezes rise, where scarce the scattered, stunted trees can yield an answering swell, but where a wilderness of heath returns the sound as well. For yonder garden, fair and wide, with groves of evergreen, long winding walks, and borders trim, and velvet lawns between, restore to me that little spot, with grey walls compassed round, where knotted grass neglected lies, and weeds usurp the ground. Though all around this mansion high invites the foot to roam, and though its walls are fair within, oh, give me back my home. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Home by Anne Bronte, read for LibriVox.org by Carol Struppling. How brightly glistening in the sun the woodland ivy plays, while yonder beaches from their barks reflect his silver rays, that sun surveys a lovely scene from softly smiling skies, and wildly through unnumbered trees the wind of winter sighs. Now loud it thunders o'er my head, and now in distance dies. But give me back my barren hills, where colder breezes rise, where scarce the scattered, stunted trees can yield an answering swell, but where a wilderness of heath returns the sound as well. For yonder garden, fair and wide, with groves of evergreen, long winding walks, and borders trim, and velvet lawns between, restore to me that little spot, gray walls compassed round, where knotted grass neglected lies and weeds usurp the ground. Though all around this mansion high invites the foot to Rome, and though its halls are fair within, oh, give me back my home. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Home by Anne Bronte. Read for LibriVox.org by David Federman. How brightly glistening in the sun the woodland ivy plays, while yonder beaches from their barks reflect his silver rays. That sun surveys a lovely scene from softly smiling skies, and wildly through unnumbered trees the wind of winter sighs. Now loud it thunders o'er my head, and now in distance dies, but give me back my barren hills where colder breezes rise. Where scarce the scattered, stunted trees can yield an answering swell, but where a wilderness of heath returns the sound as well. For yonder garden, fair and wide, with groves of evergreen, long winding walks and borders trim and velvet lawns between, restore me to that little spot with gray walls compassed round, where knotted grass neglected lies and weeds usurp the ground. Though all around this mansion high invites the foot to Rome, and though its halls are fair within, oh, give me back my home. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. And wildly through unnumbered trees the wind of winter sighs. And now it thunders o'er my head, and now in distance dies, but give me back my barren hills where colder breezes rise. Where scarce the scattered, stunted trees can yield an answering swell, but where a wilderness of heath returns the sound as well. For yonder garden, fair and wide, with groves of evergreen, long winding walks and borders trim and velvet lawns between, restore to me that little spot with gray walls compassed round, where knotted grass neglected lies and weeds usurp the ground. Though all around this mansion high invites the foot to Rome, and though its halls are fair within, oh, give me back my home. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Home by Anne Bronte. Read for LibriVox.org by Heather Petzopoulos. How brightly glistening in the sun the woodland ivy plays, while yonder beaches from their barks reflect his silver rays. That sun surveys a lovely scene from softly smiling skies and wildly through unnumbered trees the wind of winter sighs. Now loud it thunders o'er my head, and now in distance dies, but give me back my barren hills where colder breezes rise, where scarce the scattered, stunted trees can yield an answering swell, but where a wilderness of heath returns the sound as well. For yonder garden, fair and wide, with groves of evergreen, long winding walks and borders trim and velvet lawns between. Restore to me that little spot, with grey walls compassed round, where knotted grass neglected lies and weeds usurp the ground. Though all around this mansion high invites the foot to Rome, and though its halls are fair within, oh, give me back my home. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Home by Anne Bronte. Read for LibriVox.org by Jerusha Renstrom. How brightly glistening in the sun the woodland ivy plays, while yonder beaches from their barks reflect his silver rays. That sun surveys a lovely scene from softly smiling skies and wildly through unnumbered trees the wind of winter sighs. Now loud it thunders o'er my head, and now in distance dies, but give me back my barren hills where colder breezes rise, where scarce the scattered, stunted trees can yield an answering swell, but where a wilderness of heath returns the sound as well. For yonder garden, bare and wide, with groves of evergreen, long winding walks and borders trim and velvet lawns between. Restore to me that little spot, with grey walls compassed round, where knotted grass neglected lies and weeds usurp the ground. Though all around this mansion high invites the foot to roam, and though its halls are fair within, oh, give me back my home. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Home by Anne Bronte, read for LibriVox.org by Kay. How brightly glistening in the sun the woodland ivy plays, while yonder beaches from their barks reflect his silver rays. That sun surveys a lovely scene from softly smiling skies and wildly through unnumbered trees the wind of winter sighs. Oh, loud it thunders o'er my head, and now in distance dies, but give me back my barren hills where colder breezes rise, where scarce the scattered, stunted trees can yield an answering swell, but where a wilderness of heath returns the sound as well. For yonder garden, fair and wide, with groves of evergreen, long winding walks and borders trim and velvet lawns between. Restore to me that little spot, with grey walls compassed round, where knotted grass neglected lies and weeds usurped the ground. Though all around this mansion high invites the foot to roam, and though its halls are fair within, oh, give me back my home. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Home by Anne Bronte, read for LibriVox.org by Leanne Howlett. While brightly glistening in the sun the woodland ivy plays, while yonder beaches from their barks reflect his silver rays, that sun surveys a lovely scene from softly smiling skies and wildly through unnumbered trees the wind of winter sighs. Now loud it thunders o'er my head, and now in distance dies, but give me back my barren hills where colder breezes rise, where scarce the scattered stunted trees can yield an answering swell, but where a wilderness of heath returns the sound as well. For yonder garden, fair and wide, with groves of evergreen, long winding walks and borders trim and velvet lawns between. Restore to me that little spot, with grey walls compassed round, where knotted grass neglected lies and weeds usurped the ground. Though all around this mansion high invites the foot to roam, and though its halls are fair within, oh give me back my home. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Home by Anne Bronte, read for LibriVox.org by Mark Smith How brightly glistening in the sun the woodland ivy plays, while yonder beaches from their barks reflect his silver rays, that sun surveys a lovely scene from softly smiling skies, and wildly through unnumbered trees the wind of winter sighs. Now loud it thunders o'er my head, and now in distance dies, but give me back my barren hills where colder breezes rise, where scarce the scattered stunted trees can yield an answering swell, but where a wilderness of heath returns the sound as well. For yonder garden, fair and wide, with groves of evergreen, long winding walks and borders trim and velvet lawns between. Restore to me that little spot, with grey walls compassed round, where knotted grass neglected lies and weeds usurped the ground. Though all around this mansion high invites the foot to roam, and though its halls are fair within, oh, give me back my home. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Home by Anne Bronte, read for LibriVox.org by Rhonda Federman How brightly glistening in the sun the woodland ivy plays, while yonder beaches from their barks reflect his silver rays, that sun surveys a lovely scene from softly smiling skies, and wildly through unnumbered trees the wind of winter sighs. Now loud it thunders o'er my head, and now in distance dies, but give me back my barren hills where colder breezes rise, where scarce the scattered stunted trees can yield an answering swell, but where a wilderness of heath returns the sound as well. For yonder garden fair and wide, with groves of evergreen, long winding walks and borders trim and velvet lawns between. Restore to me that little spot with gray walls compassed round, where knotted grass neglected lies and weeds usurped the ground. Though all around this mansion high invites the foot to roam, and though its halls are fair within, oh, give me back my home. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Ho, by Anne Bonzi. Read for LibriVox.org by Raven Notation. How brightly glistening in the sun the woodland ivy plays, while yonder beaches from their barks reflect his silver rays, that sun surveys a lovely scene from softly smiling skies, and wildly through unnumbered trees the wind of winter sighs. Now loud it thunders o'er my head, and now in distance dies, but give me back my barren hills where colder breezes rise, where scarce the scattered stunted trees can yield an answering swell, but where a wilderness of heath returns the sound as well. For yonder garden, fair and wide, with groves of evergreen, long winding walks and borders trim and velvet lawns between. Restore to me that little spot with gray walls compassed round, where knotted grass neglected lies and weeds usurped the ground. Though all around this mansion high invites the foot to roam, and though its halls are fair within, I'll give me back my home. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Home by Anne Bronte. Read for LibriVox.org by Stuart Bell. How brightly glistening in the sun the woodland ivy plays, while yonder beaches from their barks reflect his silver rays, that sun surveys a lovely scene from softly smiling skies, and wildly through unnumbered trees the wind of winter sighs. Now loud it thunders o'er my head, and now in distance dies, but give me back my barren hills where colder breezes rise, where scarce the scattered stunted trees can yield an answering swell, but where a wilderness of heath returns the sound as well. For yonder garden, fair and wide, with groves of evergreen, long winding walks and borders trim and velvet lawns between. Restore to me that little spot with gray walls compassed round, where knotted grass neglected lies and weeds usurp the ground. Though all around this mansion high invites the foot to roam, and though its halls are fair within, I'll give me back my home. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Home by Anne Bronte. Read for LibriVox.org by Val Larson. How brightly glistening in the sun the woodland ivy plays, while yonder beaches from their barks reflect his silver rays. That sun surveys a lovely scene from softly smiling skies, and wildly through unnumbered trees the wind of winter sighs. Now loud it thunders o'er my head, and now in distance dies, but give me back my barren hills where colder breezes rise. Where scarce the scattered stunted trees can yield an answering swell, but where a wilderness of heath returns the sound as well. For yonder garden, fair and wide, with groves of evergreen, long winding walks and borders trim and velvet lawns between. Restore to me that little spot with grey walls compassed round, where knotted grass and elected lies and weeds usurp the ground. Though all around this mansion high invites the foot to roam, and though its halls are fair within, oh, give me back my home. End of poem.