Poem

HOW CLEAR SHE SHINES
by: Emily Brontë (1818-1848)
How clear she shines!
How quietlyI lie beneath her guardian light;
While heaven and earth are whispering me,
"To morrow, wake, but dream to-night.
"Yes, Fancy, come, my Fairy love!
These throbbing temples softly kiss
And bend my lonely couch above,
And bring me rest, and bring me bliss.

The world is going; dark world, adieu!
Grim world, conceal thee till the day
The heart thou canst not all subdue
Must still resist, if thou delay!

Thy love I will not, will not share
Thy hatred only wakes a smile
Thy griefs may wound--thy wrongs may tear,
But, oh, thy lies shall ne'er beguile!
While gazing on the stars that glow
Above me, in that stormless sea,
I long to hope that all the woe
Creation knows, is held in thee!

And this shall be my dream to-night;
I'll think the heaven of glorious spheres
Is rolling on its course of light
In endless bliss, through endless years
I'll think, there's not one world above,
Far as these straining eyes can see,
Where Wisdom ever laughed at Love,
Or Virtue crouched to Infamy;

Where, writhing 'neath the strokes of Fate,
The mangled wretch was forced to smile;
To match his patience 'gainst her hate,
His heart rebellious all the while.
Where Pleasure still will lead to wrong,
And helpless Reason warn in vain
And Truth is weak, and Treachery strong
And Joy the surest path to Pain
And Peace, the lethargy of Grief
And Hope, a phantom of the soul
And life, a labour, void and brief
And Death, the despot of the whole!