Anne Brontë

(7 January 1820 – 28 May 1849 / Thornton, West Riding of Yorkshire, England)

Anne Brontë Poems

1. Vanitas Vanitatis, Etc. 12/31/2002
2. Verses By Lady Geralda 12/31/2002
3. To Cowper 12/31/2002
4. Vanitas Vanitatum, Omnia Vanitas 12/31/2002
5. The Three Guides 12/31/2002
6. To -------- 12/31/2002
7. The North Wind 12/31/2002
8. Stanzas 12/31/2002
9. Song 2 12/31/2002
10. Z---------'s Dream 12/31/2002
11. The Penitent 12/31/2002
12. Severed And Gone 12/31/2002
13. Mirth And Mourning 12/31/2002
14. Lines Written At Thorp Green 12/31/2002
15. The Parting (2) 12/31/2002
16. Parting Address From Z.Z. To A.E. 12/31/2002
17. Views Of Life 12/31/2002
18. Self Communion 12/31/2002
19. The Student's Serenade 12/31/2002
20. Lines Inscribed On The Wall Of A Dungeon In The Southern P Of I 12/31/2002
21. Weep Not Too Much 12/31/2002
22. Song 12/31/2002
23. Yes Thou Art Gone 12/31/2002
24. Lines Written From Home 12/31/2002
25. My God! O Let Me Call Thee Mine! 12/31/2002
26. Self-Congratulation 12/31/2002
27. Last Lines 12/31/2002
28. Memory 12/31/2002
29. Power Of Love 12/31/2002
30. Music On Christmas Morning 12/31/2002
31. The Arbour 12/31/2002
32. Fragment 12/31/2002
33. Fluctuations 12/31/2002
34. A Word To The Calvinists 12/31/2002
35. Past Days 12/31/2002
36. A Word To The 'Elect' 12/31/2002
37. Night 12/31/2002
38. An Orphan's Lament 12/31/2002
39. My Soul Is Awakened 1/3/2003
40. The Narrow Way 12/31/2002
Best Poem of Anne Brontë

Dreams

While on my lonely couch I lie,
I seldom feel myself alone,
For fancy fills my dreaming eye
With scenes and pleasures of its own.
Then I may cherish at my breast
An infant's form beloved and fair,
May smile and soothe it into rest
With all a Mother's fondest care.

How sweet to feel its helpless form
Depending thus on me alone!
And while I hold it safe and warm
What bliss to think it is my own!

And glances then may meet my eyes
That daylight never showed to me;
What raptures in my bosom rise,
Those earnest looks of love to see, ...

Read the full of Dreams

Song 2

Come to the banquet -- triumph in your songs!
Strike up the chords -- and sing of Victory!
The oppressed have risen to redress their wrongs;
The Tyrants are o'erthrown; the Land is free!
The Land is free! Aye, shout it forth once more;
Is she not red with her oppressors' gore?
We are her champions -- shall we not rejoice?
Are not the tyrants' broad domains our own?
Then wherefore triumph with a faltering voice;

[Report Error]