Charlotte Bronte drawing of Anne Bronte Bronte Parsonage Museum ‘I have no horror of death: if I thought it inevitable, I think I could quietly resign myself to the prospect . . . But I wish it would please God to spare me, not only for papa’s and Charlotte’s sakes, but because I long to do some good in the world before I leave it. I have many schemes in my head for future practice - humble and limited indeed - but still I should not like them all to come to nothing, and myself to have lived to so little purpose. But God’s will be done.’ - Anne Brontë Anne Bronte Memorial Stone On the Death of Anne Brontë BY CHARLOTTE BRONTË There's little joy in life for me, And little terror in the grave; I 've lived the parting hour to see Of one I would have died to save. Calmly to watch the failing breath, Wishing each sigh might be the last; Longing to see the shade of death O'er those belovèd features cast.
Showing posts from May, 2020
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Insomnia BY DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI Thin are the night-skirts left behind By daybreak hours that onward creep, And thin, alas! the shred of sleep That wavers with the spirit's wind: But in half-dreams that shift and roll And still remember and forget, My soul this hour has drawn your soul A little nearer yet. Our lives, most dear, are never near, Our thoughts are never far apart, Though all that draws us heart to heart Seems fainter now and now more clear. To-night Love claims his full control, And with desire and with regret My soul this hour has drawn your soul A little nearer yet. Is there a home where heavy earth Melts to bright air that breathes no pain, Where water leaves no thirst again And springing fire is Love's new birth? If faith long bound to one true goal May there at length its hope beget, My soul that hour shall draw your soul For ever nearer yet.
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My beloved mom and me The Mother Moon By Louisa May Alcott THE moon upon the wide sea Placidly looks down, Smiling with her mild face, Though the ocean frown. Clouds may dim her brightness, But soon they pass away, And she shines out, unaltered, O'er the little waves at play. So 'mid the storm or sunshine, Wherever she may go, Led on by her hidden power The wild see must plow. As the tranquil evening moon Looks on that restless sea, So a mother's gentle face, Little child, is watching thee. Then banish every tempest, Chase all your clouds away, That smoothly and brightly Your quiet heart may play. Let cheerful looks and actions Like shining ripples flow, Following the mother's voice, Singing as they go. Reprinted from the Saturday Evening Gazette, August 23, 1856.