Charlotte Brontë

(21 April 1816 – 31 March 1855 / Yorkshire, England)

Charlotte Brontë Poems

1. The Missionary 5/10/2001
2. Gilbert 5/10/2001
3. The Wife's Will 5/10/2001
4. The Letter 5/10/2001
5. Preference 5/10/2001
6. Presentiment 5/10/2001
7. Apostasy 5/10/2001
8. The Wood 5/10/2001
9. The Teacher's Monologue 5/10/2001
10. Stanzas 5/10/2001
11. Speak Of The North! A Lonely Moor 12/31/2002
12. Pilate's Wife's Dream 5/10/2001
13. Frances 5/10/2001
14. Mementos 5/10/2001
15. Pleasure 12/31/2002
16. Winter Stores 5/10/2001
17. Regret 12/31/2002
18. Evening Solace 5/10/2001
19. Passion 5/10/2001
20. Parting 5/10/2001
21. On The Death Of Anne Brontë 5/10/2001
22. Life 5/10/2001

Comments about Charlotte Brontë

  • claudette parazoo (1/18/2019 10:14:00 AM)

    Reality at its best...love it. I like to feel a kick in the teeth once in awhile...bite hard when it hits you. There are lies, so soothing, and we are so gullible. Charlotte Bronte is an author whose truth is ours to construe.

    0 person liked.
    1 person did not like.
  • Big Jim (12/6/2018 11:38:00 AM)

    I love poetry........................................................

  • Najeeb (10/18/2018 2:52:00 PM)

    masu anamiy trumaine madamme azzelle. Jha suitee montaguada. Bronte Charlotte.

  • Rays Sparkle (7/3/2010 3:48:00 AM)

    A Motherly woman with a poetess' heart

Best Poem of Charlotte Brontë

Life

LIFE, believe, is not a dream
So dark as sages say;
Oft a little morning rain
Foretells a pleasant day.
Sometimes there are clouds of gloom,
But these are transient all;
If the shower will make the roses bloom,
O why lament its fall ?

Rapidly, merrily,
Life's sunny hours flit by,
Gratefully, cheerily,
Enjoy them as they fly !

What though Death at times steps in
And calls our Best away ?
What though sorrow seems to win,
O'er hope, a heavy sway ?
Yet hope again elastic springs,
Unconquered, though she ...

Read the full of Life

Regret

Long ago I wished to leave
" The house where I was born; "
Long ago I used to grieve,
My home seemed so forlorn.
In other years, its silent rooms
Were filled with haunting fears;
Now, their very memory comes
O'ercharged with tender tears.

[Report Error]