Emily Brontë

Heavy hangs the raindrop From the burdened spray; Heavy broods the damp mist On uplands far away; Heavy looms the dull sky, Heavy rolls the sea— And heavy beats the young heart Beneath that lonely tree. Never has a blue streak Cleft the clouds since morn— Never has his grim Fate Smiled since he was born. Frowning on the infant, Shadowing childhood’s joy, Guardian angel knows not That melancholy boy. Day is passing swiftly Its sad and sombre prime; Youth is fast invading Sterner manhood’s time. All the flowers are praying For sun before they close, And he prays too, unknowing, That sunless human rose! Blossoms, that the west wind Has never wooed to blow, Scentless are your petals, Your dew as cold as snow. Soul, where kindred kindness No early promise woke, Barren is your beauty As weed upon the rock. Wither, Brothers, wither, You were vainly given— Earth reserves no blessing For the unblessed of Heaven! Child of Delight! with sunbright hair, And seablue, seadeep eyes; Spirit of Bliss, what brings thee here, Beneath these sullen skies? Thou shouldst live in eternal spring, Where endless day is never dim; Why, seraph, has thy erring wing Borne thee down to weep with him? “Ah, not from heaven am I descended, And I do not come to mingle tears; But sweet is day, though with shadows blended; And, though clouded, sweet are youthful years. “I, the image of light and gladness, Saw and pitied that mournful boy, And I swore to take his gloomy sadness, And give to him my beamy joy. “Heavy and dark the night is closing; Heavy and dark may its biding be: Better for all from grief reposing, And better for all who watch like me. “Guardian angel, he lacks no longer; Evil fortune he need not fear: Fate is strong, but Love is stronger; And more unsleeping than angel’s care.”

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.

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!

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 and 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 idolatry. I’ve watched thee every hour; I know my mighty sway, I know my magic power To drive thy griefs away. Few hearts to mortals 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.

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 forever, 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?

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 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 real 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!

Often rebuked, yet always back returning To those first feelings that were born with me, And leaving busy chase of wealth and learning For idle dreams of things which cannot be: To-day, I will seek not the shadowy region; Its unsustaining vastness waxes drear; And visions rising, legion after legion, Bring the unreal world too strangely near. I’ll walk, but not in old heroic traces, And not in paths of high morality, And not among the half-distinguished faces, The clouded forms of long-past history. I’ll walk where my own nature would be leading: It vexes me to choose another guide: Where the gray flocks in ferny glens are feeding; Where the wild wind blows on the mountain side. What have those lonely mountains worth revealing? More glory and more grief than I can tell: The earth that wakes one human heart to feeling Can centre both the worlds of Heaven and Hell.

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 hast 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.

The night is darkening round me, The wild winds coldly blow; But a tyrant spell has bound me, And I cannot, cannot go. The giant trees are bending Their bare boughs weighed with snow; The storm is fast descending, And yet I cannot go. Clouds beyond clouds above me, Wastes beyond wastes below; But nothing drear can move me; I will not, cannot go.

Love is like the wild rose-briar, Friendship like the holly-tree— The holly is dark when the rose-briar blooms But which will bloom most constantly? The wild rose-briar is sweet in spring, Its summer blossoms scent the air; Yet wait till winter comes again And who will call the wild-briar fair? Then scorn the silly rose-wreath now And deck thee with the holly’s sheen, That when December blights thy brow He still may leave thy garland green.