“Song” by Emily Bronte

Emily Brontë

THE linnet in the rocky dells, 
  The moor-lark in the air, 
The bee among the heather bells, 
  That hide my lady fair: 

The wild deer browse above her breast; 
  The wild birds raise their brood; 
And they, her smiles of love caressed, 
  Have left her solitude ! 

I ween, that when the grave’s dark wall 
  Did first her form retain; 
They thought their hearts could ne’er recall 
  The light of joy again. 

They thought the tide of grief would flow 
  Unchecked through future years; 
But where is all their anguish now, 
  And where are all their tears ? 

Well, let them fight for honour’s breath, 
  Or pleasure’s shade pursue 
The dweller in the land of death 
  Is changed and careless too. 

And, if their eyes should watch and weep 
  Till sorrow’s source were dry 



She would not, in her tranquil sleep, 
  Return a single sigh ! 

Blow, west-wind, by the lonely mound, 
  And murmur, summer-streams 
There is no need of other sound 
  To sooth my lady’s dreams. 



Beautifully expressed grief. Emily’s own mother died when Emily was still a child.


First Publication: Poems by Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell London: Aylott and Jones, 8, Paternoster Row, 1846. pp. 43-44.



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