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On The Death Of Anne Bronte

by
 There's little joy in life for me,
And little terror in the grave;
I've lived the parting hour to see
Of one I would have died to save.
Calmly to watch the failing breath, Wishing each sigh might be the last; Longing to see the shade of death O'er those beloved features cast; The cloud, the stillness that must part The darling of my life from me; And then to thank God from my heart, To thank him well and fervently; Although I knew that we had lost The hope and glory of our life; And now, benighted, tempest-tossed, Must bear alone the weary strife.

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