Anne Brontë Poems
|42.||Music On Christmas Morning||12/31/2002|
|43.||The Doubter's Prayer||12/31/2002|
|46.||Verses To A Child||12/31/2002|
|47.||Call Me Away||12/31/2002|
|48.||Monday Night May 11th 1846 / Domestic Peace||12/31/2002|
|51.||If This Be All||12/31/2002|
|52.||The Captive's Dream||12/31/2002|
|53.||Gloomily The Clouds||12/31/2002|
|54.||A Prisoner In A Dungeon Deep||12/31/2002|
|57.||The Captive Dove||12/31/2002|
|60.||Oh, They Have Robbed Me Of The Hope||12/31/2002|
|63.||In Memory Of A Happy Day In February||12/31/2002|
|64.||Alexander And Zenobia||12/31/2002|
|66.||A Voice From The Dungeon||12/31/2002|
Comments about Anne Brontë
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, ...
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;