Emily Brontë Short Poems

Famous Short Emily Brontë Poems. Short poetry by famous poet Emily Brontë. A collection of the all-time best Emily Brontë short poems


by Emily Brontë
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.


by Emily Brontë
 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 Brontë
 The sun has set, and the long grass now 
Waves dreamily in the evening wind; 
And the wild bird has flown from that old gray stone 
In some warm nook a couch to find.

In all the lonely landscape round 
I see no light and hear no sound, 
Except the wind that far away 
Come sighing o'er the healthy sea.

by Emily Brontë
 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 Brontë
 '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 Brontë
 She dried her tears and they did smile
To see her cheeks' returning glow
How little dreaming all the while
That full heart throbbed to overflow 

With that sweet look and lively tone
And bright eye shining all the day
They could not guess at midnight lone
How she would weep the time away

by Emily Brontë
 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 Brontë
 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 Brontë
 '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 Brontë
 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!

by Emily Brontë
 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 Brontë
 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 Brontë
 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

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