“I’ve blown the pure* untrodden snows
In whirling eddies from their brows,
And I have howled in caverns wild,
Where thou a joyous mountain child
Didst dearly love to be.
The sweet world is not changed but thou
Art pining in a dungeon now,
Where thou must ever be;
No voice but mine can reach thine ear
And Heaven has kindly sent me here,
To mourn and sigh with thee,
And tell the[e] of the cherrished land
Of thy nativity.”

Blow on wild wind, thy solemn voice,
However sad and drear,
Is nothing to the gloomy silence
I have had to bear;

Hot tears are streaming from my eyes,
But these are better far,

*Note: Chitham (1979) transcribes the starred word as “wild,” but the manuscript reads “pure.”

And raised his haggard eyes to Heaven, and prayed
That he might die – I had no power to speak,
I thought I was allowed to see him thus,
And yet I might not speak one single word;
I might not even tell him that I lived
And that it might be possible if search were made,
To find out where I was and set me free,
O how I longed to clasp him to my heart,
Or but to hold his trembling hand in mine,
And speak one word of comfort to his mind,
I struggled wildly but it was in vain,
I could not rise from my dark dungeon floor,
And the dear name I vainly strove to speak,
Died in a voiceless whisper on my tongue
Then I awoke, and lo it was a dream!

He smiling took her wary hand,
And said “No longer here I stand.
My charger shakes his flowing mane
And calls me with impatient neigh
Adieu then till we meet again,
Sweet love I must no longer stay.”

      2
“You must not go so soon,” she said
“I will not say fare well,
The sun has not dispelled the shade
    In yonder dewey dell;
Dark shadows of gigantic length,
    Are sleeping on the lawn;
And scarcely have the birds begun,
    To hail the summer morn;
Then stay with me a little while.”
She said with soft and sunny smile.

      3
He smiled again, and did not speak,
But lightly kissed her rosey cheek,
And fondly clasped her in his arms,
Then vaulted on his steed.

And down the park’s smooth winding road,
He urged its flying speed,
Still by the door the his lady stood,
And watched his rapid flight,
Until he came to a distant wood,
That hid him from her sight,
But ere he vanished from her view,
He waved to her a last adieu,
Then onward hastily he steered,
And in the forest disappeared.

      4
His The lady smiled a pensive smile,
    And heaved a gentle sigh,
But her cheek was all unblanched the while,
And tearless was her eye,
“A thousand lovely flowers,” she said
Are smiling on the plain,
And ere one half of them are dead,
My lord will come again,
The leaves are waving fresh and green,

On every stat[e]ly tree,
And long before they die away,
He will return to me!” —
Alas! Fair Lady say not so,
Thou canst not tell the weight of wo,
That lies in store for thee.

      5
Those flowers will fade, those leaves will fall,
Winter will darken yonder hall,
Sweet Spring will smile o’er hill and plain,
And trees and flowers will bloom again,
And years will still keep rolling on,
But thy beloved lord is gone.
His absence thou shalt deeply mourn,
And never smile on his return.

63 lines –––––––– July 9 1838

In low and mournful tones she speaks,
And when she smiles ’tis but a gleam,
Of sunshine on a winter’s day,
That faintly beams through dreary clouds,
And in a moment dies away.
It does not warm, it does not cheer,
It makes us sigh for summer days,
When fields are green, and skies are clear,
And when the sun has kinder rays.

      4
For three years she waited there,
Still hoping for her lord[’]s return,
But vainly she may hope and fear,
And vainly watch and weep and mourn,
She may wait him till her hairs are grey,
And she may pine wear her life away,
But to his Lady and his home,
Her noble lord will never come

“I wish I knew the worst,” she said
“I wish I could dispair,
These fruitless hopes this constant dread,
Are more than I can bear!” —
“Then do not hope and do not weep,
He loved thee faithfully,
And nothing short of death could keep
So true a heart from thee;
Eliza he would never go,
And leave thee thus to mourn,
He must be dead, for death alone
Could hinder his return.”

       6
’Twas thus I spoke because I felt,
As if my heart would break,
To see her thus so slowly pining
For Alzerno’s sake;
But more than that I would not tell,
Though all the the while I knew so well,
The time and nature of his death;
For when he drew his parting breath

And that each feature soft and fair
And every curl of golden hair,
    Some sweet remembrance bears.

      3
Just then thou didst recall to me
A distant long forgotten scene;
One smile and one sweet word from thee
Dispelled the years that rolled between,
I was a little child again,
And every after joy and pain,
    Seemed never to have been.

      4
Tall forest trees waved over me,
To hide me from the heat of day,
And by my side a child like thee,
Among the summer flowerets lay.
He was thy sire: thou merry child.
Like thee he spoke, like thee he, smiled
    Like thee he used to play,

      5
O Mary those were calm and happy days,
We loved each other fondly then

But human love too soon decays,
And ours can never bloom again.
I never thought to see the day,
When his [?] Florian’s friendship would decay,
    Like that of colder men.

      6
Now Mary Flora thou hast but begun
To sail on life’s deceitful sea,
O do not err as I have done,
For I have trusted foolishly,
The faith of every friend I loved,
I never doubted till I proved
    Their hearts[’] inconstancy.

      7
’Tis mournful to look back upon
Those long departed joys and cares,
And* I will weep since thou alone
Art witness to my streaming tears,
This lingering love will not depart,
I can not banish from my heart,
    The friend of childish years,

*Note: Chitham (1979) transcribes the starred word as “But,” but the manuscript reads “And.”

A bright and sunny day
’Twas when I led a toilsome life
So many leauges away;

That day along a sunny road
All carelessly I strayed,
Between two banks where smiling flowers
Their varied hues displayed

Before me rose a lofty hill
Behind me lay the Sea
My heart was not so heavy then
As it was wont to be,

Less harassed than at other times
I saw the scene was fair,
And spoke and f laughed to those around,
As if I knew no care.

But as* I looked upon the bank

*Note: Chitham (1979) transcribes the starred word as “when,” but the manuscript reads “as.”

My wandering glances fell
Upon a little trembling flower
A single sweet bluebell.

Whence came that rising in my throat
That dimness in my eyes*?
Why did those burning drops distill –
Those bitter feelings rise?

O that Bluebell lone flower recalled to me
My happy child-hood’s hours
When blue bells were a seemed like fairy gifts
A prize among the flowers

Those sunny days of merriment
When heart and soul were free
And when I dwelt with kindred hearts
That loved and cared for me

*Note: Chitham (1979) transcribes the starred word as “eye,” but the manuscript reads “eyes.”

And thrice stern winter’s icy hand
Has checked the river[’]s flow,
And three times o’er the mountains thrown
His spotless robe of snow.

Two Summers Springs and Autumns sad
Three Winters cold and gray –
And is it then so long ago,
That wild November day!

They say such tears as children weep,
Will soon be dried away,
That childish grief however strong
Is only for a day.

And parted friends how dear soe’er
Will soon forgotten be;
It may be so with other hearts
It is not thus with me.

My Mother thou wilt weep no more
For thou art gone above
But can I ever cease to mourn
Thy fond* and fervent love?

While that was mine the world to me
Was sunshine bright and fair
No feeling rose within in my heart
But thou couldst read it there

And thou wouldst couldst feel for all my joys
And all my childish cares
And never weary of my play
Or scorn my foolish fears

Beneath thy sweet maternal smile
All pain and sorrow fled
And even the very tears were sweet
Upon [?] thy bosome shed

*Note: Chitham (1979) transcribes the starred word as “good,” but the manuscript reads “fond.”

And this soft whispering breeze that now,
So gently cools my fevered brow,
    This too Alas! Must turn –
To a wild blast whose icy dart,
Pierces and chills me to the heart
Before I cease to mourn.

And these bright flowers I love so well
Ve[r]bina – Rose, and sweet bluebell
    Must droop and die away,
Those thick green leaves with all their shade
And rustling musick they must fade
    And every one decay.

But if the sunny Summer time
And woods and meadows in their prime
Are seet sweet to them that roam –

   So often o’er again?
“Nay gentle friends I can but say
    That childhood[’]s thoughts are gone
Each year its one new feelings brings
    And years move swiftly on

And for those little simple airs
    I love to play them o’er –
So much I dare not promise now
    To play them never more.”
I answered and it was enough
    They turned them [i.e., then] to depart
They could not read my secret thoughts
    Nor see my throbbing heart.

I’ve noticed many a youthful form
    Upon whose changeful face
The inmost workings of the soul
    The gazer’s eye might trace

Text as published in Poems (1846)

    So often, o’er again?
“Indeed, dear friends, I can but say
    That childhood’s thoughts are gone;
Each year its one new feelings brings,
    And years move swiftly on:

“And for these little simple airs—
    I love to play them o’er
So much—I dare not promise, now
    To play them never more.”
I answered—and it was enough;
    They turned them to depart;
They could not read my secret thoughts,
    Nor see my throbbing heart.

I’ve noticed many a youthful form,
    Upon whose changeful face
The inmost workings of the soul
    The gazer well might trace;

The speaking eye the changing lip
    The ready blushing cheek
The smiling or beclouded brow
    Their different feelings speak

But thank God! You might gaze on mine
    For hours and never know
The secret changes of my soul
    From joy to bitter wo
Last night as we sat round the fire
    Conversing merrily
We heard without approaching steps
    Of one well known to me.

There was no trembling in my voice
    No blush upon my cheek
No lustrous sparkle in my eyes
    Of hope or joy to speak
But O my spirit burned within

Text as published in Poems (1846)

The speaking eye, the changing lip,
    The ready blushing cheek,
The smiling, or beclouded brow,
    Their different feelings speak.

But, thank God! You might gaze on mine
    For hours, and never know
The secret changes of my soul
    From joy to keenest woe.
Last night, as we sat round the fire
   Conversing merrily,
We heard, without, approaching steps
    Of one well known to me!

There was no trembling in my voice
    No blush upon my cheek,
No lustrous sparkle in my eyes,
    Of hope, or joy, to speak;
But, oh! My spirit burned within,

   My heart beat thick and fast
He came not nigh – he went away away
    And then my joy was past

And yet my comrades marked it not
    My voice was still the same
They saw me smile and o’er my face –
    No signs of sadness came
They little knew my hidden thoughts
    And they will never now know
The anguish of my drooping heart
    The bitter aching wo!

    ––––––––––––

56 lines Olivia Vernon

written January 1st 1840

    Anne Brontë

Text as published in Poems (1846)

    My heart beat full and fast!
He came not nigh—he went away—
    And then my joy was past.

And yet my comrades marked it not:
    My voice was still the same;
They saw me smile, and o’er my face
    No signs of sadness came.
They little knew my hidden thoughts;
    And they will never know
The aching anguish of my heart,
    The bitter burning woe!