Emily Jane Brontë

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

Emily Jane Brontë Poems

41. R. Alcona To J. Brenzaida 12/19/2011
42. Remembrance 12/31/2002
43. Riches I Hold In Light Esteem 12/19/2011
44. Self-Interrogation 12/31/2002
45. Shall Earth No More Inspire Thee 12/31/2002
46. She Dried Her Tears 12/31/2002
47. Silent Is The House 12/19/2011
48. Song 12/31/2002
49. Speak, God Of Visions 1/1/2004
50. Spellbound 12/19/2011
51. Stanzas 12/31/2002
52. Stanzas To - 12/31/2002
53. Stars 12/31/2002
54. Sympathy 12/31/2002
55. That Wind I Used To Hear It Swelling 12/31/2002
56. The Blue Bell 12/31/2002
57. The Elder's Rebuke 3/27/2012
58. The Lady To Her Guitar 3/27/2012
59. The Night - Wind 12/31/2002
60. The Night Is Darkening Around Me 12/31/2002
61. The Old Stoic 12/31/2002
62. The Philosopher 12/31/2002
63. The Prisoner 1/3/2003
64. The Prisoner. A Fragment 12/19/2011
65. The Sun Has Set 12/31/2002
66. The Two Children 12/19/2011
67. The Visionary 1/1/2004
68. The Wanderer From The Fold 3/27/2012
69. The Wind Was Rough Which Tore 12/31/2002
70. 'Tis Moonlight, Summer Moonlight 12/31/2002
71. To Imagination 12/31/2002
72. Warning And Reply 3/27/2012
73. Well Hast Thou Spoke 12/19/2011
74. 'Yes, Holy Be Thy Resting Place' 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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