Poems List

Come, Walk With Me

Come, Walk With Me

Come, walk with me,
There's only thee
To bless my spirit now -
We used to love on winter nights
To wander through the snow;
Can we not woo back old delights?
The clouds rush dark and wild
They fleck with shade our mountain heights
The same as long ago
And on the horizon rest at last
In looming masses piled;
While moonbeams flash and fly so fast
We scarce can say they smiled -

Come walk with me, come walk with me;
We were not once so few
But Death has stolen our company
As sunshine steals the dew -
He took them one by one and we
Are left the only two;
So closer would my feelings twine
Because they have no stay but thine


'Nay call me not - it may not be
Is human love so true?
Can Friendship's flower droop on for years
And then revive anew?
No, though the soil be wet with tears,
How fair soe'er it grew
The vital sap once perished
Will never flow again
And surer than that dwelling dread,
The narrow dungeon of the dead
Time parts the hearts of men -'
222

At Castle Wood

At Castle Wood

The day is done, the winter sun
Is setting in its sullen sky;
And drear the course that has been run,
And dim the hearts that slowly die.


No star will light my coming night;
No morn of hope for me will shine;
I mourn not heaven would blast my sight,
And I ne'er longed for joys divine.


Through life's hard task I did not ask
Celestial aid, celestial cheer;
I saw my fate without its mask,
And met it too without a tear.


The grief that pressed my aching breast
Was heavier far than earth can be;
And who would dread eternal rest
When labour's hour was agony?


Dark falls the fear of this despair
On spirits born of happiness;
But I was bred the mate of care,
The foster-child of sore distress.


No sighs for me, no sympathy,
No wish to keep my soul below;
The heart is dead in infancy,
Unwept-for let the body go.
214

Ah! Why, Because the Dazzling Sun

Ah! Why, Because the Dazzling Sun

Ah! why, because the dazzling sun
Restored my 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 rise 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 blazing still;
And bathe in gold the misty dale,
And flash upon the hill.


I turned me to the pillow then
To call back Night, and see
Your worlds 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!
202

A Little Budding Rose

A Little Budding Rose

It was a little budding rose,
Round like a fairy globe,
And shyly did its leaves unclose
Hid in their mossy robe,
But sweet was the slight and spicy smell
It breathed from its heart invisible.


The rose is blasted, withered, blighted,
Its root has felt a worm,
And like a heart beloved and slighted,
Failed, faded, shrunk its form.
Bud of beauty, bonnie flower,
I stole thee from thy natal bower.


I was the worm that withered thee,
Thy tears of dew all fell for me;
Leaf and stalk and rose are gone,
Exile earth they died upon.
Yes, that last breath of balmy scent
With alien breezes sadly blent!
224

Me thinks this heart...

"Me thinks this heart..."

Me thinks this heart should rest awhile
So stilly round the evening falls
The veiled sun sheds no parting smile
Nor mirth nor music wakes my Halls

I have sat lonely all the day
Watching the drizzly mist descend
And first conceal the hills in grey
And then along the valleys wend

And I have sat and watched the trees
And the sad flowers how drear they blow
Those flowers were formed to feel the breeze
Wave their light leaves in summer's glow

Yet their lives passed in gloomy woe
And hopeless comes its dark decline
And I lament because I know
That cold departure pictures mine
212

A Day Dream

A Day Dream

On a sunny brae, alone I lay
One summer afternoon;
It was the marriage-time of May
With her young lover, June.


From her mother's heart, seemed loath to part
That queen of bridal charms,
But her father smiled on the fairest child
He ever held in his arms.


The trees did wave their plumy crests,
The glad birds caroled clear;
And I, of all the wedding guests,
Was only sullen there!


There was not one, but wished to shun
My aspect void of cheer;
The very grey rocks, looking on,
Asked, "What do you here?"


And I could utter no reply;
In sooth, I did not know
Why I had brought a clouded eye
To greet the general glow.


So, resting on a heathy bank,
I took my heart to me;
And we together sadly sank
Into a reverie.


We thought, "When winter comes again,
Where will these bright things be?
All vanished, like a vision vain,
An unreal mockery!


The birds that now so blithely sing,
Through deserts, frozen dry,
Poor spectres of the perished spring,
In famished troops, will fly.


And why should we be glad at all?
The leaf is hardly green,
Before a token of its fall
Is on the surface seen!"


Now, whether it were really so,
I never could be sure;
But as in fit of peevish woe,
I stretched me on the moor.


A thousand thousand gleaming fires
Seemed kindling in the air;



A thousand thousand silvery lyres
Resounded far and near:


Methought, the very breath I breathed
Was full of sparks divine,
And all my heather-couch was wreathed
By that celestial shine!


And, while the wide earth echoing rung
To their strange minstrelsy,
The little glittering spirits sung,
Or seemed to sing, to me.


"O mortal! mortal! let them die;
Let time and tears destroy,
That we may overflow the sky
With universal joy!


Let grief distract the sufferer's breast,
And night obscure his way;
They hasten him to endless rest,
And everlasting day.


To thee the world is like a tomb,
A desert's naked shore;
To us, in unimagined bloom,
It brightens more and more!


And could we lift the veil, and give
One brief glimpse to thine eye,
Thou wouldst rejoice for those that live,
Because they live to die."


The music ceased; the noonday dream,
Like dream of night, withdrew;
But Fancy, still, will sometimes deem
Her fond creation true.
241

My hour of rest had fleeted by,

My hour of rest had fleeted by,
And back came labour, bondage, care.
156

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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.