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My Comforter Post by :robert5500 Category :Poems Author :Emily Bronte Date :February 2010 Read :1349

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My Comforter

Well hast thou spoken, and yet not taught
A feeling strange or new;
Thou hast but roused a latent thought,
A cloud-closed beam of sunshine brought
To gleam in open view.

Deep down, concealed within my soul,
That light lies hid from men;
Yet glows unquenched--though shadows roll,
Its gentle ray cannot control--
About the sullen den.

Was I not vexed, in these gloomy ways
To walk alone so long?
Around me, wretches uttering praise,
Or howling o'er their hopeless days,
And each with Frenzy's tongue;-

A brotherhood of misery,
Their smiles as sad as sighs;
Whose madness daily maddened me,
Distorting into agony
The bliss before my eyes!

So stood I, in Heaven's glorious sun,
And in the glare of Hell;
My spirit drank a mingled tone,
Of seraph's song, and demon's moan;
What my soul bore, my soul alone
Within itself may tell!

Like a soft, air above a sea,
Tossed by the tempest's stir;
A thaw-wind, melting quietly
The snow-drift on some wintry lea;
No: what sweet thing resembles thee,
My thoughtful Comforter?

And yet a little longer speak,
Calm this resentful mood;
And while the savage heart grows meek,
For other token do not seek,
But let the tear upon my cheek
Evince my gratitude!

The End
(Ellis Bell)Emily Bronte's poem: My Comforter

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Stanzas_ 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 gloryMust always end in gloom;And, follow out the happiest story--It closes with a tomb!And I am weary of the anguishIncreasing winters bear;Weary to watch the spirit languishThrough 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.The End(Ellis Bell) Emily Bronte's poem: Stanzas

The Old Stoic The Old Stoic

The Old Stoic
Riches I hold in light esteem,And Love I laugh to scorn;And lust of fame was but a dream,That vanished with the morn:And if I pray, the only prayerThat moves my lips for meIs, "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.The End(Ellis Bell) Emily Bronte's poem: The Old Stoic