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Best Famous Emily Bronte Poems

Here is a collection of the all-time best famous Emily Bronte poems. This is a select list of the best famous Emily Bronte poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Emily Bronte poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of Emily Bronte poems.

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by Emily Bronte | |

Wind was Rough which Tore The

 The wind was rough which tore
That leaf from its parent tree 
The fate was cruel which bore 
The withering corpse to me 

We wander on we have no rest
It is a dreary way 

What shadow is it
That ever moves before [my] eyes 
It has a brow of ghostly whiteness


by Emily Bronte | |

Wind was Rough which Tore The

 The wind was rough which tore
That leaf from its parent tree 
The fate was cruel which bore 
The withering corpse to me 

We wander on we have no rest
It is a dreary way 

What shadow is it
That ever moves before [my] eyes 
It has a brow of ghostly whiteness


by Emily Bronte | |

High waving heather neath stormy blasts bending

 High waving heather 'neath stormy blasts bending, 
Midnight and moonlight and bright shining stars, 
Darkness and glory rejoicingly blending, 
Earth rising to heaven and heaven descending, 
Man's spirit away from its drear dungeon sending, 
Bursting the fetters and breaking the bars.
All down the mountain sides wild forests lending One mighty voice to the life-giving wind, Rivers their banks in their jubilee rending, Fast through the valleys a reckless course wending, Wider and deeper their waters extending, Leaving a desolate desert behind.
Shining and lowering and swelling and dying, Changing forever from midnight to noon; Roaring like thunder, like soft music sighing, Shadows on shadows advancing and flying, Lighning-bright flashes the deep gloom defying, Coming as swiftly and fading as soon.


by Emily Bronte | |

That Wind I Used to Hear it Swelling

 That wind I used to hear it swelling
With joy divinely deep
You might have seen my hot tears welling
But rapture made me weep 

I used to love on winter nights
To lie and dream alone
Of all the hopes and real delights
My early years had known 

And oh above the rest of those
That coming time should [bear]
Like heaven's own glorious stars they rose
Still beaming bright and fair


by Emily Bronte | |

The Night is Darkening Around Me

 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.


by Emily Bronte | |

Night is Darkening Around Me The

 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.


by Emily Bronte | |

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 -


by Emily Bronte | |

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


by Emily Bronte | |

Last Lines

 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 wither'd weeds, Or idlest froth amid the boundless main, To waken doubt in one Holding so fast by Thine infinity; So surely anchor'd 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 man were gone, And suns and universes cease to be, And Thou were left alone, Every existence would exist in Thee.
There is not room for Death, Nor atom that his might could render void: Thou--Thou art Being and Breath, And what Thou art may never be destroyed.


by Emily Bronte | |

The Old Stoic

 Riches I hold in light esteem,
And love I laugh to scorn;
And lust of fame was but a dream
That vanish'd 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:
In life and death a chainless soul,
With courage to endure


by Emily Bronte | |

My Ladys Grave

 THE linnet in the rocky dells, 
The moor-lark in the air, 
The bee among the heather bells 
That hide my lady fair: 

The wild deer browse above her breast; 
The wild birds raise their brood; 
And they, her smiles of love caress'd, 
Have left her solitude! 

I ween that when the grave's dark wall 
Did first her form retain, 
They thought their hearts could ne'er recall 
The light of joy again.
They thought the tide of grief would flow Uncheck'd through future years; But where is all their anguish now, And where are all their tears? Well, let them fight for honour's breath, Or pleasure's shade pursue-- The dweller in the land of death Is changed and careless too.
And if their eyes should watch and weep Till sorrow's source were dry, She would not, in her tranquil sleep, Return a single sigh! Blow, west wind, by the lonely mound: And murmur, summer streams! There is no need of other sound To soothe my lady's dreams.


by Emily Bronte | |

Song

 The linnet in the rocky dells,
The moor - lark in the air,
The bee among the heather - bells
That hide my lady fair: 

The wild deer browse above her breast;
The wild birds raise their brood;
And they, her smiles of love caressed,
Have left their solitude! 

I ween, that when the grave's dark wall
Did first her form retain,
They thought their hearts could ne'er recall
The light of joy again.
They thought the tide of grief would flow Unchecked through future years, But where is all their anguish now, And where are all their tears? Well, let them fight for Honour's breath, Or Pleasure's shade pursue - The Dweller in the land of Death Is changed and careless too.
And if their eyes should watch and weep Till sorrow's source were dry She would not, in her tranquil sleep, Return a single sigh! Blow, west wind, by the lonely mound, And murmur, summer streams - There is no need of other sound To soothe my Lady's dreams.


by Emily Bronte | |

Moonlight summer moonlight

 'Tis moonlight, summer moonlight, 
All soft and still and fair; 
The solemn hour of midnight 
Breathes sweet thoughts everywhere,

But most where trees are sending 
Their breezy boughs on high, 
Or stooping low are lending 
A shelter from the sky.
And there in those wild bowers A lovely form is laid; Green grass and dew-steeped flowers Wave gently round her head.


by Emily Bronte | |

Tis moonlight summer moonlight

 'Tis moonlight, summer moonlight, 
All soft and still and fair; 
The solemn hour of midnight 
Breathes sweet thoughts everywhere,

But most where trees are sending 
Their breezy boughs on high, 
Or stooping low are lending 
A shelter from the sky.
And there in those wild bowers A lovely form is laid; Green grass and dew-steeped flowers Wave gently round her head.


by Emily Bronte | |

Mild the mist upon the hill

 Mild the mist upon the hill 
Telling not of storms tomorrow; 
No, the day has wept its fill, 
Spent its store of silent sorrow.
O, I'm gone back to the days of youth, I am a child once more, And 'neath my father's sheltering roof And near the old hall door I watch this cloudy evening fall After a day of rain; Blue mists, sweet mists of summer pall The horizon's mountain chain.
The damp stands on the long green grass As thick as morning's tears, And dreamy scents of fragrance pass That breathe of other years.


by Emily Bronte | |

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.


by Emily Bronte | |

Love and Friendship

 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 contantly?
The wild-rose briar is sweet in the spring,
Its summer blossoms scent the air;
Yet wait till winter comes again
And who wil 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 may still leave thy garland green.


by Emily Bronte | |

Fall leaves fall

 Fall, leaves, fall; die, flowers, away;
Lengthen night and shorten day;
Every leaf speaks bliss to me
Fluttering from the autumn tree.
I shall smile when wreaths of snow Blossom where the rose should grow; I shall sing when night's decay Ushers in a drearier day.


by Emily Bronte | |

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!


by Emily Bronte | |

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 -'


by Emily Bronte | |

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 Thine 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 man were gone, And suns and universes ceased to be, And Thou were left alone, Every existence would exist in Thee.
There is not room for Death, Nor atom that his might could render void: Thou—Thou art Being and Breath, And what Thou art may never be destroyed.


by Emily Bronte | |

Yes holy be thy resting place

 Yes, holy be thy resting place
Wherever thou may'st lie;
The sweetest winds breathe on thy face,
The softest of the sky.
And will not guardian Angles send Kind dreams and thoughts of love, Though I no more may watchful bend Thy longed repose above? And will not heaven itself bestow A beam of glory there That summer's grass more green may grow, And summer's flowers more fair? Farewell, farewell, 'tis hard to part Yet, loved one, it must be: I would not rend another heart Not even by blessing thee.
Go! We must break affection's chain, Forget the hopes of years: Nay, grieve not - willest thou remain To waken wilder tears This herald breeze with thee and me, Roved in the dawning day: And thou shouldest be where it shall be Ere evening, far away.


by Emily Bronte | |

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!


by Emily Bronte | |

Stanza

 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:

Today, 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-distingusihed 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 grey 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.


by Emily Bronte | |

If grief for grief can touch thee

 If grief for grief can touch thee, 
If answering woe for woe, 
If any truth can melt thee 
Come to me now!

I cannot be more lonely, 
More drear I cannot be! 
My worn heart beats so wildly 
'Twill break for thee--

And when the world despises-- 
When Heaven repels my prayer-- 
Will not mine angel comfort? 
Mine idol hear?

Yes, by the tears I'm poured, 
By all my hours of pain 
O I shall surely win thee, 
Beloved, again!