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Hope

Hope was but a timid friend-She sat without my grated

Watching how my fate would

Even as selfish-hearted men.

She was cruel in her fear.

Through the bars, one dreary day,

I looked out to see her

And she turned her face away!

Like a false guard false watch

Still in strife she whispered peace;

She would sing while I was weeping,

If I listened, she would cease.

False she was, and unrelenting.

When my last joys strewed the

Even sorrow saw

Those sad relics scattered round;

Hope - whose whisper would have

Balm to all that frenzied pain - Stretched her wings and soared to heaven;

Went- and ne'er returned again!

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Emily Jane Bronte

Emily Jane Brontë (30 July 1818 – 19 December 1848) was an English novelist and poet who is best known for her only novel, Wuthering Heights, no…

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