Poems List

Stars

Stars


Ah! why, because the dazzling sun
Restored our Earth to joy,
Have you departed, every one,
And left a desert sky?


All through the night, your glorious eyes
Were gazing down in mine,
And, with a full heart's thankful sighs,
I blessed that watch divine.


I was at peace, and drank your beams
As they were life to me;
And revelled in my changeful dreams,
Like petrel on the sea.


Thought followed thought, star followed star
Through boundless regions on;
While one sweet influence, near and far,
Thrilled through, and proved us one!


Why did the morning dawn to break
So great, so pure a spell;
And scorch with fire the tranquil cheek,
Where your cool radiance fell?


Blood-red, he rose, and arrow-straight,
His fierce beams struck my brow;
The soul of nature sprang, elate,
But mine sank sad and low.


My lids closed down, yet through their veil
I saw him, blazinig, still,
And steep in gold the misty dale,
And flash upon the hill.


I turned me to the pillow, then,
To call back night, and see
Your words of solemn light, again,
Throb with my heart, and me!


It would not do - the pillow glowed,
And glowed both roof and floor;
And birds sang loudly in the wood,
And fresh winds shook the door;


The curtains waved, the wakened flies
Were murmuring round my room,
Imprisoned there, till I should rise,
And give them leave to roam.


O stars, and dreams, and gentle night;
O night and stars, return!



And hide me from the hostile light
That does not warm, but burn;


That drains the blood of suffering men;
Drinks tears, instead of dew;
Let me sleep through his blinding reign,
And only wake with you!
217

Stanzas

Stanzas


I'll not weep that thou art going to leave me,
There's nothing lovely here;
And doubly will the dark world grieve me,
While thy heart suffers there.


I'll not weep, because the summer's glory
Must always end in gloom;
And, follow out the happiest story -
It closes with a tomb!


And I am weary of the anguish
Increasing winters bear;
Weary to watch the spirit languish
Through years of dead despair.


So, if a tear, when thou art dying,
Should haply fall from me,
It is but that my soul is sighing,
To go and rest with thee.
150

Silent is the House

Silent is the House

Come, the wind may never again
Blow as now it blows for us;
And the stars may never again shine as now they shine;
Long before October returns,
Seas of blood will have parted us;
And you must crush the love in your heart, and I the love in mine!
255

Speak, God Of Visions

Speak, God Of Visions

O, thy bright eyes must answer now,
When Reason, with a scornful brow,
Is mocking at my overthrow!
O, thy sweet tongue must plead for me,
And tell why I have chosen thee!


Stern Reason is to judgment come,
Arrayed in all her forms of gloom:
Wilt thou, my advocate, be dumb?
No, radiant angel, speak and say
Why I did cast the world away;


Why I have presevered to shun
The common paths that others run,
And on a strange road journeyed on,
Heedless alike of wealth and power,
Of Glory's wreath and Pleasure's flower.


These once, indeed, seemed Beings Divine;
And they, perchance, heard vows of mine,
And saw my offerings on their shrine;
But careless gifts are seldom prized,
And mine were worthily despised.


So, with a ready heart I swore
To seek their altar-stone no more;
And gave my spirit to adore
Thee, ever-present, phantom thing—
My slave, my comrade, and my king.


A slave, because I rule thee still,
Incline thee to my changeful will,
And make thy influence good or ill;
A comrade, for by day and night
Thou art my intimate delight,—


My darling pain that wounds and sears,
And wrings a blessing out of tears
Be deadening me to earthly cares;
And yet, a king, though Prudence well
Have taught thy subject to rebel.


And I am wrong to worship where
Faith cannot doubt, nor Hope despair,
Since my own soul can grant my prayer?
Speak, God of Visions, plead for me,
And tell why I have chosen thee!
187

Shall Earth No More Inspire Thee

Shall Earth No More Inspire Thee

Shall Earth no more inspire thee,
Thou lonely dreamer now ?
Since passion may not fire thee
Shall nature cease to bow ?

Thy mind is ever moving
In regions dark to thee;
Recall its useless roving -
Come back and dwell with me -

I know my mountain breezes
Enchant annd soothe thee still -
I know my sunshine pleases
Despite thy wayward will -

When day with evening blending
Sinks from the summer sky,
I've seen thy spirit bending
In fond idolotry


I've watched thee every hour -
I know my mighty sway -
I know my magic power
To drive thy griefs away -

Few hearts to mortal given
On earth so wildly pine
Yet none would ask a Heaven
More like this Earth than thine -

Then let my winds caress thee -
Thy comrade let me be -
Since nought beside can bless thee
Return and dwell with me -
189

Riches I hold in light esteem

Riches I hold in light esteem

Riches I hold in light esteem
And Love I laugh to scorn
And lust of Fame was but a dream
That vanished with the morn–
And if I pray, the only prayer
That moves my lips for me
Is–'Leave the heart that now I bear
And give me liberty.'

Yes, as my swift days near their goal
'Tis all that I implore
Through life and death, a chainless soul
With courage to endure!

(March 1, 1841)
173

Plead For Me

Plead For Me

Oh, thy bright eyes must answer now,
When Reason, with a scornful brow,
Is mocking at my overthrow!
Oh, thy sweet tongue must plead for me
And tell, why I have chosen thee!


Stern Reason is to judgment come,
Arrayed in all her forms of gloom:
Wilt thou, my advocate, be dumb?
No, radiant angel, speak and say,
Why I did cast the world away.


Why I have persevered to shun
The common paths that others run,
And on a strange road journeyed on,
Heedless, alike, of wealth and power -
Of glory's wreath and pleasure's flower.


These, once, indeed, seemed Beings Divine;
And they, perchance, heard vows of mine,
And saw my offerings on their shrine;
But, careless gifts are seldom prized,
And mine were worthily despised.


So, with a ready heart I swore
To seek their altar-stone no more;
And gave my spirit to adore
Thee, ever - present, phantom thing;
My slave, my comrade, and my king,


A slave, because I rule thee still;
Incline thee to my changeful will,
And make thy influence good or ill:
A comrade, for by day and night
Thou art my intimate delight, -


My darling pain that wounds and sears
And wrings a blessing out from tears
By deadening me to earthly cares;
And yet, a king, though Prudence well
Have taught thy subject to rebel.


And am I wrong to worship, where
Faith cannot doubt, nor hope despair,
Since my own soul can grant my prayer?
Speak, God of visions, plead for me,
And tell why I have chosen thee !
210

R. Alcona to J. Brenzaida

R. Alcona to J. Brenzaida
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-wearing wave?
Now, when alone, do my thoughts no longer hover
Over the mountains on Angora's shore;
Resting their wings where heath and fern-leaves cover
That 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:
Sterner desires and darker hopes beset me,
Hopes which obscure but cannot do thee wrong.


No other Sun has lightened up my heaven;
No other Star 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?


(March 3, 1845)
273

No Coward Soul Is Mine

No Coward Soul Is Mine

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 idlest froth amid the boundless main,


To waken doubt in one
Holding so fast by Thy 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 moon were gone,
And suns and universes ceased to be,
And Thou wert left alone,
Every Existence would exist in thee.


There is not room for Death,
Nor atom that his might could render void:
Since thou art Being and Breath,
And what thou art may never be destroyed.
481

Oh, For The Time When I Shall Sleep

Oh, For The Time When I Shall Sleep

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, fulful;
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!
205

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Identification and basic context

Emily Jane Brontë was an English novelist and poet. She is primarily known for her powerful and enduring novel, Wuthering Heights. Brontë's family background was steeped in intellectual and artistic pursuits, which significantly shaped her formative years. She wrote in English.

Childhood and education

Born into a literary family, Emily Brontë's childhood was marked by close sibling relationships and a vivid imagination, fueled by the isolated Yorkshire moors. Her formal education was limited, attending Cowan Bridge School briefly and later Roe Head. However, she was a voracious reader and largely self-educated, immersing herself in literature, philosophy, and religious texts. Early influences included the Bible, English Romantic poets, and the works of Shakespeare. The wild, untamed landscape of her homeland profoundly impacted her worldview and artistic sensibilities.

Literary trajectory

Emily Brontë's literary output was concentrated in a relatively short period. She began writing poetry at a young age, collaborating with her siblings on fantastical juvenile works. Her poetry developed a distinct voice, characterized by its raw emotional power and stark imagery. While her primary literary achievement is "Wuthering Heights," her poems were published in "Poems by Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell" in 1846, the same year she completed her novel, which was published in 1847. She did not engage significantly in literary criticism or translation.

Works, style, and literary characteristics

Emily Brontë's magnum opus is "Wuthering Heights" (1847). Her poetry often explores intense emotions, the spiritual connection with nature, and the darker aspects of the human psyche. Themes include passionate and destructive love, the conflict between civilization and nature, spiritual longing, and mortality. Her style is characterized by its intensity, vivid and often stark imagery, and a direct, powerful emotional expression. She frequently employed dramatic monologues and explored complex psychological states. Her language is potent and evocative, capable of conveying both profound tenderness and savage ferocity. Her innovations lie in her unflinching exploration of passion and her creation of a unique, brooding atmosphere.

Cultural and historical context

Brontë lived during the Victorian era in England, a period of significant social and industrial change, but her work often seems to transcend its immediate time. She belonged to a generation of writers who were exploring new forms of realism and psychological depth. While not overtly political, her work can be seen as a critique of social conventions and the constraints placed upon individuals, particularly women. Her isolated upbringing and limited exposure to literary circles meant her work developed with a unique, independent vision.

Personal life

Emily Brontë was known for her reserved and somewhat reclusive nature. She had deep emotional bonds with her siblings, particularly Anne and Charlotte, and her brother Branwell. Her experiences at Roe Head and her brief, unhappy attempts at teaching and governessing likely contributed to her desire for solitude. She was deeply attached to the moors and found solace and inspiration in nature. Her spiritual and philosophical beliefs were complex and often expressed through her poetry, reflecting a profound, almost pantheistic connection to the natural world.

Recognition and reception

Upon its publication, "Wuthering Heights" received mixed reviews, with some critics finding its passionate intensity and dark themes disturbing. However, it gradually gained recognition for its originality and power. Posthumously, Emily Brontë's reputation grew significantly, and "Wuthering Heights" is now considered a masterpiece of English literature and a major work of the Romantic and Gothic traditions. Her poetry is also appreciated for its emotional depth and distinctive voice.

Influences and legacy

Emily Brontë was influenced by the Bible, Romantic poets like Wordsworth and Coleridge, and Shakespeare. Her novel "Wuthering Heights" has had a profound and lasting impact on literature, influencing countless novelists with its psychological complexity, passionate themes, and atmospheric settings. Her unique exploration of obsessive love and the wild landscape continues to resonate. Her poetry is studied for its intensity and distinct style, contributing to the broader canon of English lyric poetry.

Interpretation and critical analysis

"Wuthering Heights" has been subject to extensive critical interpretation, focusing on themes of social class, revenge, the nature of love (both destructive and redemptive), the duality of human nature, and the symbolic power of the landscape. Critics have debated the novel's classification, placing it within Romanticism, Gothic literature, or even as a precursor to psychological realism. The characters of Heathcliff and Catherine Earnshaw remain subjects of intense analysis regarding their motivations and their embodiment of primal forces.

Curiosities and lesser-known aspects

Despite her intense novel, Emily Brontë was a very private person. She was known for her love of dogs and her skill in playing the piano. She reportedly had a stoic attitude towards illness and personal hardship. Her intense connection to the moors meant she found conventional society and social calls tedious. Her early death prevented further literary exploration.

Death and memory

Emily Brontë died in December 1848, at the age of 30, from tuberculosis. Her death came shortly after her brother Branwell's and before her sister Anne's. Her literary legacy is cemented by "Wuthering Heights," which continues to be read, studied, and adapted worldwide, ensuring her enduring memory as a singular voice in English literature.