Anne Bronte

Oh, I am very weary, Though tears no longer flow; My eyes are tires of weeping, My heart is sick of woe; My life is very lonely, My days pass heavily, I’m wearing of

Poor restless dove, I pity thee; And when I hear thy plaintive moan, I mourn for thy captivity, And in thy woes forget mine own. To see thee stand prepared to fly, And flap

Come to the banquet triumph in your songs! Strike up the chords and sing of Victory! The oppressed have risen to redress their wrongs; The Tyrants are o’erthrown; the Land is free! The Land

Eternal power of earth and air, Unseen, yet seen in all around, Remote, but dwelling everywhere, Though silent, heard in every sound. If e’er thine ear in mercy bent When wretched mortals cried to

Love, indeed thy strength is mighty Thus, alone, such strife to bear Three ‘gainst one, and never ceasing Death, and Madness, and Despair! ‘Tis not my own strength has saved me; Health, and hope,

That wind is from the North, I know it well; No other breeze could have so wild a swell. Now deep and loud it thunders round my cell, The faintly dies, And softly sighs,

Oh, weep not, love! each tear that springs In those dear eyes of thine, To me a keener suffering brings, Than if they flowed from mine. And do not droop! however drear The fate

Jan 7th A dreadful darkness closes in On my bewildered mind; O let me suffer and not sin, Be tortured yet resigned. Through all this world of whelming mist Still let me look to

Why should such gloomy silence reign; And why is all the house so drear, When neither danger, sickness, pain, Nor death, nor want have entered here? We are as many as we were That

We know where deepest lies the snow, And where the frost-winds keenest blow, O’er every mountain’s brow, We long have known and learnt to bear The wandering outlaw’s toil and care, But where we

Though bleak these woods, and damp the ground With fallen leaves so thickly strown, And cold the wind that wanders round With wild and melancholy moan; There is a friendly roof, I know, Might

Methought I saw him but I knew him not; He was so changed from what he used to be, There was no redness on his woe-worn cheek, No sunny smile upon his ashy lips,

I have gone backward in the work, The labour has not sped, Drowsy and dark my spirit lies, Heavy and dull as lead. How can I rouse my sinking soul From such a lethargy?

YES, thou art gone! and never more Thy sunny smile shall gladden me ; But I may pass the old church door, And pace the floor that covers thee. May stand upon the cold,

I’ll rest me in this sheltered bower, And look upon the clear blue sky That smiles upon me through the trees, Which stand so thickly clustering by; And view their green and glossy leaves,

O weep not, love! each tear that springs In those dear eyes of thine, To me a keener suffering brings Than if they flowed from mine. And do not droop! however drear The fate

‘Tis strange to think, there was a time When mirth was not an empty name, When laughter really cheered the heart, And frequent smiles unbidden came, And tears of grief would only flow In

You may rejoice to think yourselves secure; You may be grateful for the gift divine That grace unsought, which made your black hearts pure, And fits your earth-born souls in Heaven to shine. But,

Music I love -­ but never strain Could kindle raptures so divine, So grief assuage, so conquer pain, And rouse this pensive heart of mine -­ As that we hear on Christmas morn, Upon

Though bleak these woods and damp the ground With fallen leaves so thickly strewn, And cold the wind that wanders round With wild and melancholy moan, There is a friendly roof I know Might

A prisoner in a dungeon deep Sat musing silently; His head was rested on his hand, His elbow on his knee. Turned he his thoughts to future times Or are they backward cast? For

While on my lonely couch I lie, I seldom feel myself alone, For fancy fills my dreaming eye With scenes and pleasures of its own. Then I may cherish at my breast An infant’s

Eternal Power, of earth and air! Unseen, yet seen in all around, Remote, but dwelling everywhere, Though silent, heard in every sound. If e’er thine ear in mercy bent, When wretched mortals cried to

How brightly glistening in the sun The woodland ivy plays! While yonder beeches from their barks Reflect his silver rays. That sun surveys a lovely scene From softly smiling skies; And wildly through unnumbered

You may rejoice to think yourselves secure, You may be grateful for the gift divine, That grace unsought which made your black hearts pure And fits your earthborn souls in Heaven to shine. But

Severed and gone, so many years! And art thou still so dear to me, That throbbing heart and burning tears Can witness how I cling to thee? I know that in the narrow tomb

I have slept upon my couch, But my spirit did not rest, For the labours of the day Yet my weary soul opprest; And, before my dreaming eyes Still the learned volumes lay, And