Anne Brontë

(7 January 1820 – 28 May 1849 / Thornton, West Riding of Yorkshire, England)

Despondency


I have gone backward in the work,
The labour has not sped,
Drowsy and dark my spirit lies,
Heavy and dull as lead.
How can I rouse my sinking soul
From such a lethargy?
How can I break these iron chains,
And set my spirit free?

There have been times when I have mourned,
In anguish o'er the past;
And raised my suppliant hands on high,
While tears fell thick and fast,

And prayed to have my sins forgiven
With such a fervent zeal,
An earnest grief --- a strong desire
That now I cannot feel!

And vowed to trample on my sins,
And called on Heaven to aid
My spirit in her firm resolves
And hear the vows I made.

And I have felt so full of love,
So strong in spirit then,
As if my heart would never cool
Or wander back again.

And yet, alas! how many times
My feet have gone astray,
How oft have I forgot my God,
How greatly fallen away!

My sins increase, my love grows cold,
And Hope within me dies,
And Faith itself is wavering now,
O how shall I arise!

I cannot weep but I can pray,
Then let me not despair;
Lord Jesus, save me lest I die,
And hear a wretch's prayer.

Submitted: Tuesday, December 31, 2002

Form:


Do you like this poem?
0 person liked.
0 person did not like.

Read poems about / on: despair, grief, faith, work, heaven, hope, dark, god

Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?

Comments about this poem (Despondency by Anne Brontë )

Enter the verification code :

There is no comment submitted by members..

Trending Poets

Trending Poems

  1. The Road Not Taken, Robert Frost
  2. Still I Rise, Maya Angelou
  3. Fire and Ice, Robert Frost
  4. If You Forget Me, Pablo Neruda
  5. A Homage To The Freedom Fighters Of India, Raja Basu
  6. Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night, Dylan Thomas
  7. Dreams, Langston Hughes
  8. Daffodils, William Wordsworth
  9. If, Rudyard Kipling
  10. A Red, Red Rose, Robert Burns

Poem of the Day

poet Thomas Nashe

Spring, the sweet spring, is the year's pleasant king,
Then blooms each thing, then maids dance in a ring,
Cold doth not sting, the pretty birds do sing:
...... Read complete »

 

Modern Poem

poet Seamus Heaney

 
[Hata Bildir]