Works by EMILY BRONTE
(July 30 1818-December 19 1848.)
Emily Bronte, with sisters Charlotte & Elizabeth wrote some of the most well known novels and most beautiful poetry of the 1800's.
Allthough she is mostly known for her novel Wuthering Heights and sister Charlotte for Jane Eyre, both concentrated on poetry throughout their lives.
Below are some of Emily's many beautiful poems.
How beautiful the earth still,
To thee-how full of happiness,
How little fraught with real ill,
Or unreal phantoms of distress,
How spring can bring thee glory, yet,
And summer win thee to forget,
December's Sullen Time,
Why dost thou hold the treasure fast,
Of youth's delight, when youth is past,
And thou art near thy prime?
Equals in fortune and in years,
Have seen their morning melt in tears,
To clouded, smileless day,
Blest, and they died untried and young,
Before their hearts went wandering wrong,
Poor slaves, Subdued by passion strong,
A weak and helpless prey!
It is hope's spell that glorifies,
Like youth, to my maturer eyes,
All nature's million mysteries,
The fearful and the fair-
Hope soothes me in the griefs I know,
Glad comforter! will I not brave,
Unawed, the darkness of the grave?
Nay, smile to hear death's billows rave-
Sustained, my guide, by thee?
The more unjust seems present fate,
The more my spirit swells elate,
Strong, In thy strength, to Anticipate,
I am the Only being whose Doom.....
I am the only being whose doom,
No tongue would ask, no eye would mourn,
I never caused a thought of gloom,
A smile of joy since I was born,
In secret pleasure-secret tears,
This changeful like has slipped away,
As friendless after eighteen years,
As lone as on my natal day,
There have been times I cannot hide,
There have been times when this was drear,
When my sad soul forgot it's pride,
And longed for one to love me here,
But those were in the early glow,
Of feelings since subdued by care,
And they have died so long ago,
I hardly now believe they were,
First melted off the hope of youth,
Then Fancy's rainbow fast withdrew,
And then experience told me truth,
In mortal bosoms never grew,
'Twas grief enough to think mankind,
All hollow servile insincere,
But whose to trust to my own mind,
And find the same corruption there
I knew not 'twas so dire a crime,
To say the word, Adieu,
But this shall be the only time,
My lips or heart shall sue,
The wild hill-sided, the winter mourn,
The gnarled and ancient tree,
If in your breast they waken scorn,
Shall wakr the same in me,
I can forget black eyes and brows,
And lips of falsest charm,
If you forget the sacred vows,
Those faithless lips could form,
If hard commands can tame your love,
Or strongest walls can hold,
I would not wish to grieve above,
A thing so false and cold,
Those eyes shall make my only day,
Shall set my spirit free,
And chase the foolish thought away,
That mourn your memory.
No Coward Soul is Mine
No coward soul is mine,
No trembler in the world's storm-troubled sphere :
I see Heaven's glories shine,
And Faith shines equal, arming me from Fear.
O God within my breast,
Almighty, ever-present Deity !
Life, that in me has rest,
As I, undying Life, have power in Thee !
Vain are the thousand creeds
That move men's hearts : unutterably vain ;
Worthless as withered weeds,
Or idlest froth amid the boundless main,
To waken doubt in one
Holding so fast by Thy infinity,
So surely anchored on
The steadfast rock of Immortality.
With wide-embracing love
Thy Spirit animates eternal years,
Pervades and broods above,
Changes, sustains, dissolves, creates, and rears.
Though earth and moon were gone,
And suns and universes ceased to be,
And Thou wert left alone,
Every existence would exist in Thee.
There is not room for Death,
Nor atom that his might could render void :
Thou -- THOU art Being and Breath,
And what THOU art may never be destroyed.
*this was the last poem she ever wrote.