Charlotte Brontë Poems
|3.||The Wife's Will||5/10/2001|
|10.||Pilate's Wife's Dream||5/10/2001|
|11.||The Teacher's Monologue||5/10/2001|
|14.||Speak Of The North! A Lonely Moor||12/31/2002|
|17.||On The Death Of Anne Brontë||5/10/2001|
LIFE, believe, is not a dream
So dark as sages say;
Oft a little morning rain
Foretells a pleasant day.
Sometimes there are clouds of gloom,
But these are transient all;
If the shower will make the roses bloom,
O why lament its fall ?
Life's sunny hours flit by,
Enjoy them as they fly !
What though Death at times steps in
And calls our Best away ?
What though sorrow seems to win,
O'er hope, a heavy sway ?
Yet hope again elastic springs,
Unconquered, though she ...
Long ago I wished to leave
" The house where I was born; "
Long ago I used to grieve,
My home seemed so forlorn.
In other years, its silent rooms
Were filled with haunting fears;
Now, their very memory comes
O'ercharged with tender tears.