Emily Brontë

Mild the mist upon the hill ;Telling not of storms tomorrow ,No, the day has wept its fill .Spent its store of silent sorrow

,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 constantly

,The night is darkening round me ;The wild winds coldly blow But a tyrant spell has bound me .And I cannot, cannot go

.The evening passes fast away“ ;Tis almost time to rest’ ,What thoughts has left the vanished day ?What feelings in thy breast

Often rebuked, yet always back returning ,To those first feelings that were born with me And leaving busy chase of wealth and learning :For idle dreams of things which cannot be

,In the dungeon-crypts idly did I stray ;Reckless of the lives wasting there away “!Draw the ponderous bars! open, Warder stern” .He dared not say me nay–the hinges harshly turn

,For him who struck thy foreign string ;I ween this heart has ceased to care Then why dost thou such feelings bring ?To my sad spirit—old Guitar

,Shall earth no more inspire thee  ?Thou lonely dreamer now  Since passion may not fire thee  ?Shall Nature cease to bow 

,Tell me, tell me, smiling child ?What the past is like to thee ‘An Autumn evening soft and mild ’.With a wind that sighs mournfully

No coward soul is mine  No trembler in the world’s storm-troubled sphere  I see Heaven’s glories shine  And Faith shines equal arming me from Fear 

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

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

;Fall, leaves, fall; die, flowers, away ;Lengthen night and shorten day

,Come, walk with me There’s only thee –To bless my spirit now  We used to love on winter nights

;Hope was but a timid friend ,She sat without the grated den ,Watching how my fate would tend .Even as selfish-hearted men

;I do not weep; I would not weep :Our mother needs no tears Dry thine eyes, too; ’tis vain to keep .This causeless grief for years

Come hither, child — who gifted thee ?With power to touch that string so well ,How darest thou rouse up thoughts in me ?Thoughts that I would — but cannot quell

هي قصيدة بقلم الشاعرة إميلي برونتي، تقدم القصيدة وصف حالة المتحدث العاطفية والروحية، تابع المزيد من القراءة لتتعرف على شرح القصيدة.   ملخص قصيدة At Castle Wood   إميلي برونتي كانت شاعرة مشهورة على نطاق واسع منذ أن بدأت في كتابة الشعر، مساهماتها في الأدب الإنجليزي مشهورة، عاشت حياة صعبة للغاية وكانت مليئة بالمآسي والمصاعب […]

:Silent is the house: all are laid asleep ,One alone looks out o’er the snow-wreaths deep Watching every cloud, dreading every breeze