Emily Jane Bronte

Emily Jane Bronte

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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, now considered a classic of English literature.
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The Old Stoic

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

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

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
In all the lonely landscape round I see no light and hear no sound,
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Last Words

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,
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How Clear She Shines

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
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If grief for grief can touch thee

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,
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Stanzas To - - - -

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
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Moonlight summer moonlight

'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,
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The Prisoner Pt 1

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
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Warning And Reply

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
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My Comforter

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 from...
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Death that struck when I was most confiding

that struck when I was most confiding
In my certain faith of joy to be—Strike again,
Time's withered branch
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The Night-Wind

In summer's mellow midnight,
A cloudless moon shone
Our open parlour window,
And rose-trees wet with dew
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The Lady To Her Guitar

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
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The Night

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, And yet I cannot go
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