Poems from the Moor adlı eser, Emily Brontë tarafından yazılmıştır. Sayfa sayfa işaretlenen bu sözler, okurların favorilerini yansıtıyor.
Poems from the Moor'dan En Beğenilen Alıntılar
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Poems from the Moor, Emily Brontë
My words died in a voiceless moan...
--June 10, 1837--
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Poems from the Moor, Emily Brontë
Where wilt thou go, my harassed heart
What thought, what scene invites thee now?
What spot, or near or far apart,
Has rest for thee, my weary brow?
There is a spot, 'mid barren hills,
Where winter howls, and driving rain
But, if the dreary tempest chills;
There is a light that warms again.
The house is old, the trees are bare,
Moonless above bends twilight's dome...
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Poems from the Moor, Emily Brontë
SLEEP brings no joy to me,
Sleep brings no rest to me,
Sleep brings no hope to me,
Sleep brings no strength to me,
Sleep brings no friend to me
Sleep brings no wish to fret
NOVEMBER, 1837
--Düzenlenmiştir.--
And even for that spirit, seer,
Poems from the Moor, Emily Brontë
I 've watched and sought my long;
Sought him in heaven, hell, earth, and air,
An endless search, and always wrong.
_
Poems from the Moor, Emily Brontë
HOPE Was but a timid friend.
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Hope, whose whisper would have given
Balm to all my frenzied pain,
Stretched her wings, and soared to heaven,
Went, and ne'er returned again !
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Poems from the Moor, Emily Brontë
All through the night, your glorious eyes
Were gazing down in mine,
And, with a full heart's thankful sighs,
I blessed that watch divine.
I was at peace...
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Poems from the Moor, Emily Brontë
What I am born to bear?
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Poems from the Moor, Emily Brontë
But, I'll not fear, I will not weep
For those whose bodies rest in sleep,
I know there is a blessed shore,
Opening its ports for me and mine;
And, gazing Time's wide waters o'er,
I weary for that land divine,
Where we were born, where you and I
Shall meet our dearest, when we die;
From suffering and corruption free,
Restored into the Deity.
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Poems from the Moor, Emily Brontë
Nor absence, nor distance can quell.
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Poems from the Moor, Emily Brontë
Withersoul and blossom,
Given to you in vain!
Earth reserves no blessing
For the unblest of heaven!
--Düzenlenmiştir.--
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Poems from the Moor, Emily Brontë
It was morning, the bright sun was beaming.
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The time when nor labour nor dreaming
Broke the sleep of the happy and free!
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Poems from the Moor, Emily Brontë
SILENT is the house: all are laid asleep:
One alone looks out o'er the snow-wreaths deep,
Watching every cloud, dreading every breeze
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Poems from the Moor, Emily Brontë
Shake off the fetters, break the chain,
And live and love and smile again.
--August 7, 1834--
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Poems from the Moor, Emily Brontë
The trees are bare, the sun is cold,
And seldom, seldom seen;
The heavens have lost their zone of gold,
And earth her robe of green.
And ice upon the glancing stream
Has cast its sombre shade;
And distant hills and valleys seem
In frozen mist arrayed.
The Bluebell cannot charm me now,
The heath has lost its bloom.
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Poems from the Moor, Emily Brontë
Oh! Stars, dreams, and gentle night;
Oh, night and stars, return!
And hide me from the hostile light
That does not warm, but burn.
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Poems from the Moor, Emily Brontë
False friends will launch their covert sneers;
True friends will wish me dead;
And I shall cause the bitterest tears
That you have ever shed.
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Poems from the Moor, Emily Brontë
The night is darkening round me,
The wild winds coldly blow;
But a tyrant spell has bound me,
And I cannot, cannot go.
The giant trees are bending
Their bare boughs weighed with snow,
And the storm is fast descending,
And yet I cannot go.
Clouds beyond clouds above me,
Wastes beyond wastes below;
But nothing dread can move me-
I will not, cannot go.
--November, 1837--
And could she see me now, perchance her lip would smile.
Poems from the Moor, Emily Brontë
November 1, 1838
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Poems from the Moor, Emily Brontë
But life was nourished by despair.
Old hall of Elbe, ruined, lonely now,
Poems from the Moor, Emily Brontë
Home to which the voice of life shall never more return;
Chambers roofless, desolate, where weeds and ivy grow;
Windows through whose broken panes the night winds coldly mourn.
Home of the departed, the long-departed dead.
June, 1838
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Poems from the Moor, Emily Brontë
The earth that wakes one human heart to feeling
Can centre both the worlds of Heaven and Hell.
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Poems from the Moor, Emily Brontë
Flowers may open, buds may blossom,
Bud and flower alike are vain;
Her days shall pass like a mournful story in care and tears and pain.
--July 12, 1836--
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Poems from the Moor, Emily Brontë
Virtue is not won by fears.
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Poems from the Moor, Emily Brontë
Whispered, "The grim walls enfold me."
--Düzenlenmiştir.--
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Poems from the Moor, Emily Brontë
We were a sentence that was unapproved and rejected by heaven.
---Düzenlenmiştir.--
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Poems from the Moor, Emily Brontë
Though Earth and moon were gone,
And suns and universes ceased to be,
And Thou wert left alone,
Every Existence would exist in Thee.
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Poems from the Moor, Emily Brontë
The sad minutes are moving,
Though loaded with trouble and pain;
And some time the loved and the loving
Shall meet on the mountains again!
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Poems from the Moor, Emily Brontë
I watched my time, and summer passed,
And autumn waning fleeted by,
And doleful winter nights at last
In cloudy morning clothed the sky.
--July 1837--
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Poems from the Moor, Emily Brontë
The smiles of joy is banished
From evening's chilly gloom.
--Düzenlenmiştir.--
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Poems from the Moor, Emily Brontë
Vain are the thousand creeds
That move men's hearts: unutterably vain;
Worthless as withered weeds,
Or idle froth amid the boundless main.
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Poems from the Moor, Emily Brontë
Fate is strong, but love is stronger;
And my love is truer than angel-care.
_
Poems from the Moor, Emily Brontë
I'll not weep that thou art going to leave me,
There's nothing lovely here;
And doubly will the dark world grieve me,
While thy heart suffers there.
I'll not weep, because the summer's glory
Must always end in gloom;
And, follow out the happiest story
It closes with a tomb!
And I am weary of the anguish
Increasing winters bear;
Weary to watch the spirit languish
Through years of dead despair.
So, if a tear, when thou art dying,
Should haply fall from me,
It is but that my soul is sighing,
To go and rest with thee.
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Poems from the Moor, Emily Brontë
And why should we be glad at all?
The leaf is hardly green,
Before a token of its fall
Is on the surface seen!
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Poems from the Moor, Emily Brontë
I knew that he was dying
Stooped, and raised his languid head;
Feel no breath, and heard no sighing,
So I knew that he was dead.
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Poems from the Moor, Emily Brontë
I 'Il walk, but not in old heroic traces,
And not in paths of high morality,
And not among the half-distinguished faces,
The clouded forms of long-past history.
I 'll walk where my own nature would be leading:
It vexes me to choose another guide:
Where the grey flocks in ferny glens are feeding;
Where the wild wind blows on the mountain-side.
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Poems from the Moor, Emily Brontë
Why I have persevered to shun
The common paths that others run;
And on a strange road journeyed on,
Heedless, alike of wealth and power-
Of glory's wreath and pleasure's flower.
These, once, indeed, seemed Beings Divine;
And they, perchance, heard vows of mine,
And saw my offerings on their shrine;
But careless gifts are seldom prized,
And mine were worthily despised.
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Poems from the Moor, Emily Brontë
It is not death, but pain
That struggles in thy breast.
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Poems from the Moor, Emily Brontë
I took my heart to me;
And we together sadly sank
Into a reverie.
But, first, a hush of peace a soundless calm descends;
Poems from the Moor, Emily Brontë
The struggle of distress, and fierce impatience ends;
Mute music soothes my breast unuttered harmony
That I could never dream, till Earth was lost to me.
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Oh! dreadful is the check-intense the agony
When the ear begins to hear, and the eye begins to see;
When the pulse begins to throb, the brain to think again
The soul to feel the flesh, and the flesh to feel the chain.
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Poems from the Moor, Emily Brontë
For everything was drear to me.
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Poems from the Moor, Emily Brontë
They weep, you weep, it must be so;
Winds sigh as you are sighing,
And winter sheds its grief in snow
Where Autumn's leaves are lying:
Yet, these revive, and from their fate
Your fate cannot be parted:
Then, journey on, if not elate.
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Poems from the Moor, Emily Brontë
Where thy heart has suffered so,
Canst thou desire to dwell?
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Poems from the Moor, Emily Brontë
Now trust a heart that trusts in you,
And firmly say the word adieu;
Be sure, wherever I may roam,
My heart is with your heart at home.
NOVEMBER, 1837
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Poems from the Moor, Emily Brontë
The peaceful hours away!
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Poems from the Moor, Emily Brontë
Woe for the day! with gory tears
My countless sons this day shall rue;
Woe for the day! a thousand years
Cannot repair what one shall do.
--June 10, 1837--
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Poems from the Moor, Emily Brontë
Love, and its own life, had power to keep it
From all wrong from every blight but thine!
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Poems from the Moor, Emily Brontë
Undistinguished dies
Unheard like my farewell!
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Poems from the Moor, Emily Brontë
In all the hours of gloom
My soul was rapt away;
I stood by a marble tomb
Where royal corpses lay.
It was just the time of eve,
When parted ghosts might come,
Above their prisoned dust to grieve
And wail their woeful doom.
And truly at my side
I saw a shadowy thing,
Most dim, and yet its presence there
Curdled my blood with ghastly fear
And ghastlier wondering.
--June 10, 1837--
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Poems from the Moor, Emily Brontë
"My friend" she gently said, "you have not heard me mourn."
How gloomy grows the night! Tis Gondal's wind that blows.
Poems from the Moor, Emily Brontë
November, 1838
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Poems from the Moor, Emily Brontë
Hope was there, and laughed me out of sadness;
Whispering, "Winter will not linger long!"
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Poems from the Moor, Emily Brontë
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!
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Poems from the Moor, Emily Brontë
Indeed 'twas not the space
Of earth or time between,
But the sea of deep eternity,
The gulf o'er which mortality
Has never, never been.
--June 10, 1837--
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Poems from the Moor, Emily Brontë
Time, for me must never blossom more!
Where were ye all? and where wert thou?
Poems from the Moor, Emily Brontë
October, 1848
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Poems from the Moor, Emily Brontë
'tis all in vain.
--August 1837--
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“... My words died in a voiceless moan... --June 10, 1837--”