Emily Jane Bronte

Riches I hold in light esteem,
And love I laugh to scorn;
And lust of fame was but a
That vanish'd with the morn:

There should be no despair for
While nightly stars are burning;
While evening pours its silent dew,
And sunshine gilds the morning.

Enough of thought, philosopher!
Too long hast thou been
Unlightened, in this chamber drear,
While summer's sun is beaming!

The sun has set, and the long grass now
Waves dreamily in the evening wind;
And the wild bird has flown from that old gray stone
In some warm nook a couch to find.

I knew not 'twas so dire a
To say the word, "Adieu;"But this shall be the only
My lips or heart shall sue.
That wild hill-side, the winter morn

How clear she shines!
How quietlyI lie beneath her guardian light;
While heaven and earth are whispering me,"To morrow, wake, but dream to-night."Yes,
Fancy, come, my Fairy love!

If grief for grief can touch thee,
If answering woe for woe,
If any truth can melt thee Come to me now!
I cannot be more lonely

Well, some may hate, and some may scorn,
And some may quite forget thy name;
But my sad heart must ever
Thy ruined hopes, thy blighted fame!'Twas thus I thought, an hour ago

'Tis moonlight, summer moonlight,
All soft and still and fair;
The solemn hour of midnight Breathes sweet thoughts everywhere,
But most where trees are sending Their breezy boughs on high,

In the dungeon crypts idly did I stray,
Reckless of the lives wasting there away;"Draw the ponderous bars; open,
Warder stern!"He dare not say me nay–the hinges harshly turn."Our guests are darkly lodged," I…

In the earth—the earth—thou shalt be laid,
A grey stone standing over thee;
Black mould beneath thee spread,
And black mould to cover thee."Well—there is rest there

Well hast thou spoken, and yet, not taught A feeling strange or new;
Thou hast but roused a latent thought,
A cloud-closed beam of sunshine, brought To gleam in open view.
Deep down, concealed within my soul, That light lies hid…

Death! that struck when I was most confiding.
In my certain faith of joy to be—Strike again,
Time's withered branch
From the fresh root of Eternity!

In summer's mellow midnight,
A cloudless moon shone
Our open parlour window,
And rose-trees wet with dew.

For him who struck thy foreign string,
I ween this heart has ceased to care;
Then why dost thou such feelings
To my sad spirit—old Guitar?

The night is darkening round me,
The wild winds coldly blow; But a tyrant spell has bound me,
And I cannot, cannot go. The giant trees are bending
Their bare boughs weighed with snow; The storm is fast descending

The moon is full this winter night;
The stars are clear, though few;
And every window glistens
With leaves of frozen dew.

HE linnet in the rocky dells, The moor-lark in the air,
The bee among the heather bells That hide my lady fair:
The wild deer browse above her breast; The wild birds raise their brood;
And they, her smiles of love caress'd, Have…

Mild the mist upon the hill Telling not of storms tomorrow;
No, the day has wept its fill,
Spent its store of silent sorrow.
O

Love is like the wild rose-briar,
Friendship like the holly-tree —The holly is dark when the rose-briar
But which will bloom most constantly?
The wild-rose briar is sweet in the spring

Come hither, child—who gifted thee With power to touch that string so well?
How darest thou rouse up thoughts in me,
Thoughts that I would—but cannot quell?
Nay, chide not, lady; long ago I heard those notes in Ula's hall

The linnet in the rocky dells,
The moor-lark in the air,
The bee among the heather
That hide my lady fair:

Ladybird!
Ladybird!
Fly away home,
Night is approaching, and sunset is come:

How beautiful the Earth is
To thee–how full of Happiness;
How little fraught with real
Or shadowy phantoms of distress;