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Bronte Poetry


Bronte

Faith and Despondency - Poem by Emily Bronte

"The winter wind is loud and wild,
Come close to me, my darling child;
Forsake thy books, and mateless play;
And, while the night is gathering gray,
We'll talk its pensive hours away;--

"Ierne, round our sheltered hall
November's gusts unheeded call;
Not one faint breath can enter here
Enough to wave my daughter's hair,
And I am glad to watch the blaze
Glance from her eyes, with mimic rays;
To feel her cheek, so softly pressed,
In happy quiet on my breast,

"But, yet, even this tranquillity
Brings bitter, restless thoughts to me;
And, in the red fire's cheerful glow,
I think of deep glens, blocked with snow;
I dream of moor, and misty hill,
Where evening closes dark and chill;
For, lone, among the mountains cold,
Lie those that I have loved of old.
And my heart aches, in hopeless pain,
Exhausted with repinings vain,
That I shall greet them ne'er again!"

"Father, in early infancy,
When you were far beyond the sea,
Such thoughts were tyrants over me!
I often sat, for hours together,
Through the long nights of angry weather,
Raised on my pillow, to descry
The dim moon struggling in the sky;
Or, with strained ear, to catch the shock,
Of rock with wave, and wave with rock;
So would I fearful vigil keep,
And, all for listening, never sleep.
But this world's life has much to dread,
Not so, my Father, with the dead.

"Oh! not for them, should we despair,
The grave is drear, but they are not there;
Their dust is mingled with the sod,
Their happy souls are gone to God!
You told me this, and yet you sigh,
And murmur that your friends must die.
Ah! my dear father, tell me why?
For, if your former words were true,
How useless would such sorrow be;
As wise, to mourn the seed which grew
Unnoticed on its parent tree,
Because it fell in fertile earth,
And sprang up to a glorious birth--
Struck deep its root, and lifted high
Its green boughs in the breezy sky.

"But, I'll not fear, I will not weep
For those whose bodies rest in sleep,--
I know there is a blessed shore,
Opening its ports for me and mine;
And, gazing Time's wide waters o'er,
I weary for that land divine,
Where we were born, where you and I
Shall meet our dearest, when we die;
From suffering and corruption free,
Restored into the Deity."

"Well hast thou spoken, sweet, trustful child!
And wiser than thy sire;
And worldly tempests, raging wild,
Shall strengthen thy desire--
Thy fervent hope, through storm and foam,
Through wind and ocean's roar,
To reach, at last, the eternal home,
The steadfast, changeless shore!"




About the Brontes
Emily
Anne
Charlotte
Branwell
Patrick


Charlotte Bronte Poetry
Winter Stores
Pilate's Wife's Dream
Mementos
The Wife's Will
The Wood
Frances
Gilbert I. The Garden
Gilbert II. The Parlour
Gilbert III. The Welcome Home
Life
The Letter
Regret
Presentiment
The Teacher's Monologue
Passion
Preference
Evening Solace
Stanzas
Parting
Apostasy
The Missionary


Emily Bronte Poetry
Faith and Despondency
Stars
The Philosopher
Remembrance
A Death-Scene
Song
Anticipation
The Prisoner - A Fragment
Hope
A Day Dream
To Imagination
How Clear She Shines
Sympathy
Plead for me
Self-Interogation
Death
Stanzas To --
Honour
Stanzas
My Comforter
The Old Stoic


Anne Bronte Poetry
A Reminiscence
The Arbour
Home
Vanitas Vanitatum, Omnia Vanitas
The Penitent
Music On Christmas Morning
Stanzas
If This Be All
Memory
To Cowper
The Doubter's Prayer
A Word To The "Elect"
Past Days
The Consolation
Lines Composed In A Wood On A Windy Day
Views Of Life
Appeal
The Student's Serenade
The Captive Dove
Self-Congratulation
Fluctuations




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