Charlotte Bronte

Winter Stores By Charlotte Brontë

Winter Stores By Charlotte Brontë

Winter Stores WE take from life one little share, And say that this shall be A space, redeemed from toil and care, From tears and sadness free. And, haply, Death unstrings his bow And Sorrow stands apart, And, for a little while, we know The sunshine of the heart. Existence seems a summer eve, Warm,... »

Pilate’s Wife’s Dream By Charlotte Brontë

Pilate’s Wife’s Dream By Charlotte Brontë

Pilate’s Wife’s Dream I’ve quenched my lamp, I struck it in that start Which every limb convulsed, I heard it fall­ The crash blent with my sleep, I saw depart Its light, even as I woke, on yonder wall; Over against my bed, there shone a gleam Strange, faint, and mingling also with... »

Apostasy By Charlotte Brontë

Apostasy By Charlotte Brontë

Apostasy THIS last denial of my faith, Thou, solemn Priest, hast heard; And, though upon my bed of death, I call not back a word. Point not to thy Madonna, Priest,­ Thy sightless saint of stone; She cannot, from this burning breast, Wring one repentant moan. Thou say’st, that when a sinless ch... »

The Letter By Charlotte Brontë

The Letter By Charlotte Brontë

The Letter WHAT is she writing ? Watch her now, How fast her fingers move ! How eagerly her youthful brow Is bent in thought above ! Her long curls, drooping, shade the light, She puts them quick aside, Nor knows, that band of crystals bright, Her hasty touch untied. It slips adown her silken dress,... »

Presentiment By Charlotte Brontë

Presentiment By Charlotte Brontë

Presentiment ‘ SISTER, you’ve sat there all the day, Come to the hearth awhile; The wind so wildly sweeps away, The clouds so darkly pile. That open book has lain, unread, For hours upon your knee; You’ve never smiled nor turned your head What can you, sister, see ? ‘ ‘... »

The Wife’s Will By Charlotte Brontë

The Wife’s Will By Charlotte Brontë

The Wife’s Will SIT still­a word­a breath may break (As light airs stir a sleeping lake,) The glassy calm that soothes my woes, The sweet, the deep, the full repose. O leave me not ! for ever be Thus, more than life itself to me ! Yes, close beside thee, let me kneel­ Give me thy hand that I m... »

Life By Charlotte Brontë

Life By Charlotte Brontë

Life LIFE, believe, is not a dream So dark as sages say; Oft a little morning rain Foretells a pleasant day. Sometimes there are clouds of gloom, But these are transient all; If the shower will make the roses bloom, O why lament its fall ? Rapidly, merrily, Life’s sunny hours flit by, Grateful... »

Stanzas By Charlotte Brontë

Stanzas By Charlotte Brontë

Stanzas IF thou be in a lonely place, If one hour’s calm be thine, As Evening bends her placid face O’er this sweet day’s decline; If all the earth and all the heaven Now look serene to thee, As o’er them shuts the summer even, One moment­think of me ! Pause, in the lane, ret... »

Mementos By Charlotte Brontë

Mementos By Charlotte Brontë

Mementos ARRANGING long-locked drawers and shelves Of cabinets, shut up for years, What a strange task we’ve set ourselves ! How still the lonely room appears ! How strange this mass of ancient treasures, Mementos of past pains and pleasures; These volumes, clasped with costly stone, With prin... »

The Teacher’s Monologue By Charlotte Brontë

The Teacher’s Monologue By Charlotte Brontë

The Teacher’s Monologue THE room is quiet, thoughts alone People its mute tranquillity; The yoke put on, the long task done,­ I am, as it is bliss to be, Still and untroubled. Now, I see, For the first time, how soft the day O’er waveless water, stirless tree, Silent and sunny, wings its... »

Passion By Charlotte Brontë

Passion By Charlotte Brontë

Passion SOME have won a wild delight, By daring wilder sorrow; Could I gain thy love to-night, I’d hazard death to-morrow. Could the battle-struggle earn One kind glance from thine eye, How this withering heart would burn, The heady fight to try ! Welcome nights of broken sleep, And days of ca... »

The Missionary By Charlotte Brontë

The Missionary By Charlotte Brontë

The Missionary LOUGH, vessel, plough the British main, Seek the free ocean’s wider plain; Leave English scenes and English skies, Unbind, dissever English ties; Bear me to climes remote and strange, Where altered life, fast-following change, Hot action, never-ceasing toil, Shall stir, turn, di... »

Gilbert By Charlotte Brontë

Gilbert By Charlotte Brontë

Gilbert I. THE GARDEN. ABOVE the city hung the moon, Right o’er a plot of ground Where flowers and orchard-trees were fenced With lofty walls around: ‘Twas Gilbert’s garden­there, to-night Awhile he walked alone; And, tired with sedentary toil, Mused where the moonlight shone. This... »

The Wood By Charlotte Brontë

The Wood By Charlotte Brontë

The Wood BUT two miles more, and then we rest ! Well, there is still an hour of day, And long the brightness of the West Will light us on our devious way; Sit then, awhile, here in this wood­ So total is the solitude, We safely may delay. These massive roots afford a seat, Which seems for weary trav... »

Parting By Charlotte Brontë

Parting By Charlotte Brontë

Parting THERE’S no use in weeping, Though we are condemned to part: There’s such a thing as keeping A remembrance in one’s heart: There’s such a thing as dwelling On the thought ourselves have nurs’d, And with scorn and courage telling The world to do its worst. We̵... »

Speak Of The North! A Lonely Moor By Charlotte Brontë

Speak Of The North! A Lonely Moor By Charlotte Brontë

Speak Of The North! A Lonely Moor Speak of the North! A lonely moor Silent and dark and tractless swells, The waves of some wild streamlet pour Hurriedly through its ferny dells. Profoundly still the twilight air, Lifeless the landscape; so we deem Till like a phantom gliding near A stag bends down ... »

On The Death Of Anne Brontë By Charlotte Brontë

On The Death Of Anne Brontë By Charlotte Brontë

On The Death Of Anne Brontë 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 th... »

Regret By Charlotte Brontë

Regret By Charlotte Brontë

Regret Long ago I wished to leave ” The house where I was born; ” Long ago I used to grieve, My home seemed so forlorn. In other years, its silent rooms Were filled with haunting fears; Now, their very memory comes O’ercharged with tender tears. Life and marriage I have known, Thin... »

Frances By Charlotte Brontë

Frances By Charlotte Brontë

Frances SHE will not sleep, for fear of dreams, But, rising, quits her restless bed, And walks where some beclouded beams Of moonlight through the hall are shed. Obedient to the goad of grief, Her steps, now fast, now lingering slow, In varying motion seek relief From the Eumenides of woe. Wringing ... »

Preference By Charlotte Brontë

Preference By Charlotte Brontë

Preference NOT in scorn do I reprove thee, Not in pride thy vows I waive, But, believe, I could not love thee, Wert thou prince, and I a slave. These, then, are thine oaths of passion ? This, thy tenderness for me ? Judged, even, by thine own confession, Thou art steeped in perfidy. Having vanquishe... »

Evening Solace By Charlotte Brontë

Evening Solace By Charlotte Brontë

Evening Solace THE human heart has hidden treasures, In secret kept, in silence sealed;­ The thoughts, the hopes, the dreams, the pleasures, Whose charms were broken if revealed. And days may pass in gay confusion, And nights in rosy riot fly, While, lost in Fame’s or Wealth’s illusion, ... »

Pleasure By Charlotte Brontë

Pleasure By Charlotte Brontë

Pleasure A Short Poem or Else Not Say I True pleasure breathes not city air, Nor in Art’s temples dwells, In palaces and towers where The voice of Grandeur dwells. No! Seek it where high Nature holds Her court ‘mid stately groves, Where she her majesty unfolds, And in fresh beauty moves;... »

Apostasy – Charlotte Bronte

Apostasy – Charlotte Bronte

THIS last denial of my faith, Thou, solemn Priest, hast heard; And, though upon my bed of death, I call not back a word. Point not to thy Madonna, Priest,­ Thy sightless saint of stone; She cannot, from this burning breast, Wring one repentant moan. Thou say’st, that when a sinless child, I du... »