Remembrance by Emily Brontë

    Cold in the earth, and the deep snow piled above thee,
    Far, far, removed, cold in the dreary grave!
    Have I forgot, my only Love, to love thee,
    Severed at last by Time's all-severing wave?

    Now, when alone, do my thoughts no longer hover
    Over the mountains, on that northern shore,
    Resting their wings where heath and fern-leaves cover
    Thy noble heart for ever, ever more?

    Cold in the earth, and fifteen wild Decembers,
    From those brown hills, have melted into spring:
    Faithful, indeed, is the spirit that remembers
    After such years of change and suffering!

    Sweet Love of youth, forgive, if I forget thee,
    While the world's tide is bearing me along;
    Other desires and other hopes beset me,
    Hopes which obscure, but cannot do thee wrong!

    No later light has lightened up my heaven,
    No second morn has ever shone for me;
    All my life's bliss from thy dear life was given,
    All my life's bliss is in the grave with thee.

    But, when the days of golden dreams had perished,
    And even Despair was powerless to destroy;
    Then did I learn how existence could be cherished,
    Strengthened, and fed without the aid of joy.

    Then did I check the tears of useless passion,
    Weaned my young soul from yearning after thine;
    Sternly denied its burning wish to hasten
    Down to that tomb already more than mine.

    And, even yet, I dare not let it languish,
    Dare not indulge in memory's rapturous pain;
    Once drinking deep of that divinest anguish,
    How could I seek the empty world again?

Self-Interogation by Emily Brontë

    "The evening passes fast away.
    'Tis almost time to rest;
    What thoughts has left the vanished day,
    What feelings in thy breast?

    "The vanished day? It leaves a sense
    Of labour hardly done;
    Of little gained with vast expense,
    A sense of grief alone?

    "Time stands before the door of Death,
    Upbraiding bitterly
    And Conscience, with exhaustless breath,
    Pours black reproach on me:

    "And though I've said that Conscience lies
    And Time should Fate condemn;
    Still, sad Repentance clouds my eyes,
    And makes me yield to them!

    "Then art thou glad to seek repose?
    Art glad to leave the sea,
    And anchor all thy weary woes
    In calm Eternity?

    "Nothing regrets to see thee go,
    Not one voice sobs' farewell;'
    And where thy heart has suffered so,
    Canst thou desire to dwell?"

    "Alas! the countless links are strong
    That bind us to our clay;
    The loving spirit lingers long,
    And would not pass away!

    "And rest is sweet, when laurelled fame
    Will crown the soldier's crest;
    But a brave heart, with a tarnished name,
    Would rather fight than rest.

    "Well, thou hast fought for many a year,
    Hast fought thy whole life through,
    Hast humbled Falsehood, trampled Fear;
    What is there left to do?

    "'Tis true, this arm has hotly striven,
    Has dared what few would dare;
    Much have I done, and freely given,
    But little learnt to bear!

    "Look on the grave where thou must sleep
    Thy last, and strongest foe;
    It is endurance not to weep,
    If that repose seem woe.

    "The long war closing in defeat,
    Defeat serenely borne,
    Thy midnight rest may still be sweet,
    And break in glorious morn!"

The Philosopher by Emily Brontë

    Enough of thought, philosopher!
    Too long hast thou been dreaming
    Unlightened, in this chamber drear,
    While summer's sun is beaming!
    Space-sweeping soul, what sad refrain
    Concludes thy musings once again?

    "Oh, for the time when I shall sleep
    Without identity.
    And never care how rain may steep,
    Or snow may cover me!
    No promised heaven, these wild desires
    Could all, or half fulfil;
    No threatened hell, with quenchless fires,
    Subdue this quenchless will!"

    "So said I, and still say the same;
    Still, to my death, will say,
    Three gods, within this little frame,
    Are warring night; and day;
    Heaven could not hold them all, and yet
    They all are held in me;
    And must be mine till I forget
    My present entity!
    Oh, for the time, when in my breast
    Their struggles will be o'er!
    Oh, for the day, when I shall rest,
    And never suffer more!"

    "I saw a spirit, standing, man,
    Where thou dost stand, an hour ago,
    And round his feet three rivers ran,
    Of equal depth, and equal flow,
    A golden stream, and one like blood;
    And one like sapphire seemed to be;
    But, where they joined their triple flood
    It tumbled in an inky sea
    The spirit sent his dazzling gaze
    Down through that ocean's gloomy night;
    Then, kindling all, with sudden blaze,
    The glad deep sparkled wide and bright,
    White as the sun, far, far more fair
    Than its divided sources were!"

    "And even for that spirit, seer,
    I've watched and sought my life-time long;
    Sought him in heaven, hell, earth, and air,
    An endless search, and always wrong.
    Had I but seen his glorious eye
    ONCE light the clouds that wilder me;
    I ne'er had raised this coward cry
    To cease to think, and cease to be;

    I ne'er had called oblivion blest,
    Nor stretching eager hands to death,
    Implored to change for senseless rest
    This sentient soul, this living breath,
    Oh, let me die, that power and will
    Their cruel strife may close;
    And conquered good, and conquering ill
    Be lost in one repose!"

Last Lines by Emily Brontë

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 idle froth amid the boundless main,

To waken doubt in one
Holding so fast by Thine 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 man were gone,
And suns and universes ceased to be,
And Thou were left alone,
Every existence would exist in Thee.

There is no 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.

I See Around Me Tombstones Grey by Emily Brontë

    I see around me tombstones grey
    Stretching their shadows far away.
    Beneath the turf my footsteps tread
    Lie low and lone the silent dead,
    Beneath the turf, beneath the mould,
    Forever dark, forever cold,
    And my eyes cannot hold the tears
    That memory hoards from vanished years
    For Time and Death and Mortal pain
    Give wounds that will not heal again,
    Let me remember half the woe
    I've seen and heard and felt below,
    And Heaven itself, so pure and blest,
    Could never give my spirit rest,
    Sweet land of light! thy children fair
    Know nought akin to our despair,
    Nor have they felt, nor can they tell
    What tenants haunt each mortal cell,
    What gloomy guests we hold within,
    Torments and madness, tears and sin!
    Well, may they live in ectasy
    Their long eternity of joy;
    At least we would not bring them down
    With us to weep, with us to groan,
    No, Earth would wish no other sphere
    To taste her cup of sufferings drear;
    She turns from Heaven with a careless eye
    And only mourns that we must die!
    Ah mother, what shall comfort thee
    In all this boundless misery?
    To cheer our eager eyes a while
    We see thee smile; how fondly smile!
    But who reads not through that tender glow
    Thy deep, unutterable woe:
    Indeed no dazzling land above
    Can cheat thee of thy children's love.
    We all, in life's departing shine,
    Our last dear longings blend with thine;
    And struggle still and strive to trace
    With clouded gaze, thy darling face.
    We would not leave our native home
    For any world beyond the Tomb.
    No, rather on thy kindly breast
    Let us be laid in lasting rest;
    Or waken but to share with thee
    A mutual immortality.