Great poetry of Emily Bronte
Blog,  English

At castle wood by Emily Bronte

The day is done, the winter sun

Is setting in its sullen sky;

And drear the course that has been run,

And dim the hearts that slowly die.

No star will light my coming night;

No morn of hope for me will shine;

I mourn not heaven would blast my sight,

And I ne’er longed for joys divine.

Through life’s hard task I did not ask

Celestial aid, celestial cheer;

I saw my fate without its mask,

And met it too without a tear.

The grief that pressed my aching breast

Was heavier far than earth can be;

And who would dread eternal rest

When labour’s hour was agony?

Dark falls the fear of this despair

On spirits born of happiness;

But I was bred the mate of care,

The foster-child of sore distress.

No sighs for me, no sympathy,

No wish to keep my soul below;

The heart is dead in infancy,

Unwept-for let the body go.

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