Anne Bronte
Anne Brontë (1820–1849) was the youngest of the three Brontë sisters and the author of "Agnes Grey" and "The Tenant of Wildfell Hall," one of the first sustained feminis…
"O God! if this indeed be all That Life can show to me; If on my aching brow may fall No freshening dew from Thee, If with no"
"I will not mourn thee, lovely one, Though thou art torn away. 'Tis said that if the morning sun Arise with dazzling ray And s"
"Though bleak these woods and damp the ground With fallen leaves so thickly strewn, And cold the wind that wanders round With wild a"
"Why, when I hear the stormy breath Of the wild winter wind Rushing o'er the mountain heath, Does sadness fill my mind? For lo"
"Yes, thou art gone ! and never more Thy sunny smile shall gladden me ; But I may pass the old church door, And pace the floor that"
"Why should such gloomy silence reign, And why is all the house so drear, When neither danger, sickness, pain, Nor death, nor want,"
"Ellen, you were thoughtless once Of beauty or of grace, Simple and homely in attire, Careless of form and face; Then whence th"
"I'm buried now; I've done with life; I've done with hate, revenge and strife; I've done with joy, and hope and love And all the bus"
"Eternal power of earth and air, Unseen, yet seen in all around, Remote, but dwelling everywhere, Though silent, heard in every soun"
"O, let me be alone a while, No human form is nigh. And may I sing and muse aloud, No mortal ear is by. Away! ye dreams of ear"
"'Tis strange to think, there was a time When mirth was not an empty name, When laughter really cheered the heart, And frequent smil"
"'Maiden, thou wert thoughtless once Of beauty or of grace, Simple and homely in attire Careless of form and face. Then whence"
"In all we do, and hear, and see, Is restless Toil and Vanity. While yet the rolling earth abides, Men come and go like Ocean tides;"
"What though the sun had left my sky; To save me from despair The blessed moon arose on high, And shone serenely there. I watc"
"1 The chestnut steed stood by the gate His noble master's will to wait, The woody park so green and bright Was glowing in the mor"
"Weep not too much, my darling; Sigh not too oft for me; Say not the face of Nature Has lost its charm for thee. I have enough"
"My God! O let me call Thee mine! Weak wretched sinner though I be, My trembling soul would fain be Thine, My feeble faith still cli"
"Sweet are thy strains, celestial Bard; And oft, in childhood's years, I've read them o'er and o'er again, With floods of silent tea"
"Fair was the evening and brightly the sun Was shining on desert and grove, Sweet were the breezes and balmy the flowers And cloudle"