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Dreams

By Anne Bronte

Topics: classic

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,     To feel my hand so kindly prest,     To know myself beloved at last,     To think my heart has found a rest,     My life of solitude is past!     But then to wake and find it flown,     The dream of happiness destroyed,     To find myself unloved, alone,     What tongue can speak the dreary void?     A heart whence warm affections flow,     Creator, thou hast given to me,     And am I only thus to know     How sweet the joys of love would be?

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"While on my lonely couch I lie,..."

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Author:Anne Bronte

"While on my lonely couch I lie,..." by Anne Bronte

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"The Text is taken from Percy's Reliques (1765), vol. i. p. 71, 'given from two MS. copies, transmitted from Scotland.' Herd had a very similar bal"

Anne Bronte

About 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 feminist novels in English. Her poetry explores faith, nature, and the condition of women.

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