Great poetry of Emily Bronte
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Speak God of visions by Emily Bronte

O, thy bright eyes must answer now,

When Reason, with a scornful brow,

Is mocking at my overthrow!

O, 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 presevered 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 of tears

Be deadening me to earthly cares;

And yet, a king, though Prudence well

Have taught thy subject to rebel.

And I am 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!

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