Emily Jane Brontë
Emily Brontë was an English novelist and poet, best remembered for her only novel, Wuthering Heights, now considered a classic of English literature. Emily was the third eldest of the four surviving Brontë siblings, between the youngest Anne and her brother Branwell. She published under the pen name Ellis Bell.
Emily Brontë was born on 30 July 1818 in Thornton, near Bradford in Yorkshire, to Maria Branwell and Patrick Brontë. She was the younger sister of Charlotte Brontë and the fifth of six children. In 1824, the family moved to Haworth, where Emily's father was perpetual curate, and it was in these surroundings that their literary gifts ... more »
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Emily Jane Brontë Poems
I Am the Only Being Whose Doom
I am the only being whose doom No tongue would ask no eye would mourn I never caused a thought of gloom A smile of joy since I was born
"A little while, a little while..."
A little while, a little while, The weary task is put away, And I can sing and I can smile, Alike, while I have holiday.
Come, Walk With Me
Come, walk with me, There's only thee To bless my spirit now - We used to love on winter nights
'Fall, leaves, fall'
Fall, leaves, fall; die, flowers, away; Lengthen night and shorten day; Every leaf speaks bliss to me Fluttering from the autumn tree.
Hope was but a timid friend; She sat without the grated den, Watching how my fate would tend, Even as selfish-hearted men.
Love and Friendship
Love is like the wild rose-briar, Friendship like the holly-tree -- The holly is dark when the rose-briar blooms But which will bloom most contantly?
"Me thinks this heart..."
Me thinks this heart should rest awhile So stilly round the evening falls The veiled sun sheds no parting smile Nor mirth nor music wakes my Halls
A Little Budding Rose
It was a little budding rose, Round like a fairy globe, And shyly did its leaves unclose Hid in their mossy robe,
A Day Dream
On a sunny brae, alone I lay One summer afternoon; It was the marriage-time of May With her young lover, June.
If grief for grief can touch thee
If grief for grief can touch thee, If answering woe for woe, If any truth can melt thee Come to me now!
The night is darkening round me, The wild winds coldly blow; But a tyrant spell has bound me And I cannot, cannot go.
How still, how happy!
How still, how happy! Those are words That once would scarce agree together; I loved the plashing of the surge - The changing heaven the breezy weather,
The Night is Darkening Around Me
The night is darkening round me, The wild winds coldly blow ; But a tyrant spell has bound me, And I cannot, cannot go.
I see around me tombstones grey
I see around me tombstones grey Stretching their shadows far away. Beneath the turf my footsteps tread Lie low and lone the silent dead -
Quotationsmore quotations »
''Having levelled my palace, don't erect a hovel and complacently admire your own charity in giving me that for a home.''Emily Brontë (1818-1848), British novelist, poet. Catherine, in Wuthering Heights, ch. 11 (1847). Said to Heathcliff, who had accused her of treat...
''Any relic of the dead is precious, if they were valued living.''Emily Brontë (1818-1848), British novelist, poet. Ellen Dean, in Wuthering Heights, ch. 13 (1847). Said of a letter she has received from Isabella...
''The tyrant grinds down his slaves and they don't turn against him, they crush those beneath them.''Emily Brontë (1818-1848), British novelist, poet. Heathcliff, in Wuthering Heights, ch. 11 (1847).
''I am now quite cured of seeking pleasure in society, be it country or town. A sensible man ought to find sufficient company in himself.''Emily Brontë (1818-1848), British novelist, poet. Mr. Lockwood, in Wuthering Heights, ch. 3 (1847).
''Proud people breed sad sorrows for themselves.''Emily Brontë (1818-1848), British novelist, poet. Nelly, in Wuthering Heights, ch. 7 (1847).
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
I Am the Only Being Whose Doom
I am the only being whose doom
No tongue would ask no eye would mourn
I never caused a thought of gloom
A smile of joy since I was born
In secret pleasure - secret tears
This changeful life has slipped away
As friendless after eighteen years
As lone as on my natal day
There have been times I cannot hide
There have been times when this was drear
When my sad soul forgot its pride
And longed for one to love me here
But those were in the early glow
Of feelings since subdued by care
And they have died so long ago
I hardly now believe they ...