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Plead For Me Post by :donndarcy Category :Poems Author :Emily Bronte Date :February 2010 Read :685

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Plead For Me

Oh, thy bright eyes must answer now,
When Reason, with a scornful brow,
Is mocking at my overthrow!
Oh, thy sweet tongue must plead for me
And tell why I have chosen thee!

Stern Reason is to judgment come,
Arrayed in all her forms of gloom:
Wilt thou, my advocate, be dumb?
No, radiant angel, speak and say,
Why I did cast the world away.

Why I have persevered to shun
The common paths that others run;
And on a strange road journeyed on,
Heedless, alike of wealth and power--
Of glory's wreath and pleasure's flower.

These, once, indeed, seemed Beings Divine;
And they, perchance, heard vows of mine,
And saw my offerings on their shrine;
But careless gifts are seldom prized,
And MINE were worthily despised.

So, with a ready heart, I swore
To seek their altar-stone no more;
And gave my spirit to adore
Thee, ever-present, phantom thing--
My slave, my comrade, and my king.

A slave, because I rule thee still;
Incline thee to my changeful will,
And make thy influence good or ill:
A comrade, for by day and night
Thou art my intimate delight,--

My darling pain that wounds and sears,
And wrings a blessing out from tears
By deadening me to earthly cares;
And yet, a king, though Prudence well
Have taught thy subject to rebel

And am I wrong to worship where
Faith cannot doubt, nor hope despair,
Since my own soul can grant my prayer?
Speak, God of visions, plead for me,
And tell why I have chosen thee!

The End
(Ellis Bell) Emily Bronte's poem: Plead for me

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Sympathy Sympathy

There should be no despair for youWhile nightly stars are burning;While evening pours its silent dew,And sunshine gilds the morning.There should be no despair--though tearsMay flow down like a river:Are not the best beloved of yearsAround your heart for ever?They weep, you weep, it must be so;Winds sigh as you are sighing,And winter sheds its grief in snowWhere Autumn's leaves are lying:Yet, these revive, and from their fateYour fate cannot be parted:Then, journey on, if not elate,Still, NEVER broken-hearted!The End(Ellis Bell) Emily Bronte's poem: Sympathy

Self-interogation Self-interogation

"The evening passes fast away.'Tis almost time to rest;What thoughts has left the vanished day,What feelings in thy breast?"The vanished day? It leaves a senseOf labour hardly done;Of little gained with vast expense--A sense of grief alone?"Time stands before the door of Death,Upbraiding bitterlyAnd Conscience, with exhaustless breath,Pours black reproach on me:"And though I've said that Conscience liesAnd Time should Fate condemn;Still, sad Repentance clouds my eyes,And makes me yield to them!"Then art thou glad to seek repose?Art glad to leave the sea,And anchor all thy weary woesIn calm Eternity?"Nothing regrets to see thee go--Not one voice sobs' farewell;'And where