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. Weep Not Too Much 12/31/2002
16. The Parting (2) 12/31/2002
17. Parting Address From Z.Z. To A.E. 12/31/2002
18. Views Of Life 12/31/2002
19. Self Communion 12/31/2002
20. The Student's Serenade 12/31/2002
21. Lines Inscribed On The Wall Of A Dungeon In The Southern P Of I 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. The Parting 12/31/2002
30. Power Of Love 12/31/2002
31. Music On Christmas Morning 12/31/2002
32. The Arbour 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. Fragment 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

Z---------'s Dream

I dreamt last night; and in that dream
My boyhood's heart was mine again;
These latter years did nothing seem
With all their mingled joy and pain,
Their thousand deeds of good and ill,
Their hopes which time did not fulfil,
Their glorious moments of success,
Their love that closed in bitterness,
Their hate that grew with growing strength,

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