Emily Jane Brontë

(30 July 1818 – 19 December 1848 / Thornton / Yorkshire)

Emily Jane Brontë Poems

41. The Visionary 1/1/2004
42. Moonlight, Summer Moonlight 1/1/2004
43. Far, Far Away Is Mirth Withdrawn 12/31/2002
44. The Old Stoic 12/31/2002
45. No Coward Soul Is Mine 12/31/2002
46. How Clear She Shines 12/31/2002
47. The Sun Has Set 12/31/2002
48. Anticipation 12/31/2002
49. That Wind I Used To Hear It Swelling 12/31/2002
50. She Dried Her Tears 12/31/2002
51. The Blue Bell 12/31/2002
52. Faith And Despondency 12/31/2002
53. To Imagination 12/31/2002
54. High Waving Heather 'Neath Stormy Blasts Bending 12/31/2002
55. Stars 12/31/2002
56. Spellbound 12/19/2011
57. How Beautiful The Earth Is Still 12/19/2011
58. I See Around Me Tombstones Grey 12/31/2002
59. Death, That Struck When I Was Most Confiding 12/31/2002
60. A Death - Scene 12/31/2002
61. Sympathy 12/31/2002
62. How Still, How Happy! 12/31/2002
63. The Night Is Darkening Around Me 12/31/2002
64. A Day Dream 12/31/2002
65. A Little Budding Rose 12/31/2002
66. If Grief For Grief Can Touch Thee 12/31/2002
67. At Castle Wood 12/31/2002
68. "Me Thinks This Heart..." 12/31/2002
69. Love And Friendship 12/31/2002
70. 'Fall, Leaves, Fall' 12/31/2002
71. Hope 12/31/2002
72. Come, Walk With Me 12/31/2002
73. "A Little While, A Little While..." 1/1/2004
74. I Am The Only Being Whose Doom 12/31/2002
Best Poem of Emily Jane Brontë

I Am The Only Being Whose Doom

I am the only being whose doom
No tongue would ask no eye would mourn
I never caused a thought of gloom
A smile of joy since I was born

In secret pleasure - secret tears
This changeful life has slipped away
As friendless after eighteen years
As lone as on my natal day

There have been times I cannot hide
There have been times when this was drear
When my sad soul forgot its pride
And longed for one to love me here

But those were in the early glow
Of feelings since subdued by care
And they have died so long ago
I hardly now believe they ...

Read the full of I Am The Only Being Whose Doom

Plead For Me

Oh, thy bright eyes must answer now,
When Reason, with a scornful brow,
Is mocking at my overthrow!
Oh, thy sweet tongue must plead for me
And tell, why I have chosen thee!

Stern Reason is to judgment come,
Arrayed in all her forms of gloom:
Wilt thou, my advocate, be dumb?

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