1emily

1emily
Originally uploaded by Red Maya.

Emily Bronte

by Branwell Bronte

Ive been immersed in the Bronte's for the past few days; reading autobiographical works by Charlotte, biographical attempts to explain Emily's genius, and poems and selections of Wuthering Heights. I have once again been taken down that dark tunnel, where the light of reason is often dim and reality is scarce. I must yet again rescue my sinking sanity and look into my childs' eyes, so that I may "come back". Althought I must admit that it happens often, it ALWAYS seems to happen here.

To honor this great talent that has captured my soul; I thought I might share one of my favorite poems. (I will soon share more of my own). Until then......Enjoy!


REMEMBRANCE

Cold in the earth - and the deep snow piled above thee,
Far, far, removed, cold in the dreary grave!
Have I forgot, my only Love, to love thee,
Severed at last by Time's all- servering wave?

Now, when alone, do my thoughts no longer hover
Over the mountains, on that northern shore,
Resting their wings where heath and fern-leaves cover
Thy noble heart for ever, ever more?

Cold in the earth - and fifteen wild Decembers,
From those brown hills, have melted into spring:
Faithful, indeed, is the spirit that remembers
After such years of change and suffering!

Sweet Love of youth, forgive, if I forget thee,
While the world's tide is bearing me along;
Other disires and other hopes beset me,
Hopes which obscure, but cannot do thee wrong!

No later light has lightened up my heaven,
No second morn has ever shone for me;
All my life's bliss form thy dear life was given,
All my life's bliss is in the grave with thee.

But, when the days of golden dreams had perished,
And even Despair was powerless to destroy;
Then did I learn how existence could be cherished,
Strengthened, and fed without the aid of joy.

Then did I check the tears of useless passion-
Weaned my young soul from yearning after thine,
Sternly denied its burning wish to hasten
Down to that tomb already more than mine.

And, even yet, I dare not let it languish,
Dare not indulge in memory's rapturous pain;
Once drinking deep of that divinest anguish,
How could I seek the empty world again?


- Emily Jane Bronte