Anne Brontë Poems
|41.||Monday Night May 11th 1846 / Domestic Peace||12/31/2002|
|44.||My Soul Is Awakened||1/3/2003|
|47.||Verses To A Child||12/31/2002|
|49.||Lines Written From Home||12/31/2002|
|50.||If This Be All||12/31/2002|
|51.||The Captive's Dream||12/31/2002|
|53.||Gloomily The Clouds||12/31/2002|
|54.||A Prisoner In A Dungeon Deep||12/31/2002|
|55.||The Captive Dove||12/31/2002|
|57.||Music On Christmas Morning||12/31/2002|
|61.||Oh, They Have Robbed Me Of The Hope||12/31/2002|
|62.||In Memory Of A Happy Day In February||12/31/2002|
|63.||Alexander And Zenobia||12/31/2002|
|66.||A Voice From The Dungeon||12/31/2002|
Comments about Anne Brontë
Farewell to thee! but not farewell
To all my fondest thoughts of thee:
Within my heart they still shall dwell;
And they shall cheer and comfort me.
O, beautiful, and full of grace!
If thou hadst never met mine eye,
I had not dreamed a living face
Could fancied charms so far outvie.
If I may ne'er behold again
That form and face so dear to me,
Nor hear thy voice, still would I fain
Preserve, for aye, their memory.
That voice, the magic of whose tone
Can wake an echo in my breast,
We know where deepest lies the snow,
And where the frost-winds keenest blow,
O'er every mountain's brow,
We long have known and learnt to bear
The wandering outlaw's toil and care,
But where we late were hunted, there
Our foes are hunted now.
We have their princely homes, and they
To our wild haunts are chased away,