Friday, July 13, 2012

POETRY by Emily Jane Brontë









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.











"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 








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