Emily Jane Brontë: The Complete Poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

Brontë, Emily (1818-1848)

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Were they shepherds, who sat all day
On that brown mountain-side?
But neither staff nor dog had they;
Nor woolly flock to guide—

They were clothed in savage attire;
Their locks were dark and long;
And at each belt a weapon dire
Like bandit-knives was hung—

One was a woman tall and fair;
A princess she might be
From her stately form and her features rare
And her look of majesty—

But oh, she had a sullen frown—
A lip of cruel scorn—
As sweet tears never melted down
Her cheeks since she was born!

'Twas well she had no sceptre to wield,
No subject land to sway;
Fear might have made her vassals yield
But Love had been far away—

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Yet, Love was even at her feet
In his most burning mood—
That Love which will the Wicked greet
As kindly as the Good—

And he was noble too, who bowed
So humbly by her side—
Entreating, till his eyes o'erflowed,
Her spirit's icy pride—

‘Angelica, from my very birth
I have been nursed in strife,
And lived upon this weary Earth
A wanderer, all my life;

‘The baited tiger could not be
So much athirst for gore,
For men and laws have tortured me
Till I can bear no more—

‘The guiltless blood upon my hands
Will shut me out from Heaven
And here, and even in foreign lands
I cannot find a haven—

‘And in all space, and in all time,
And through Eternity,
To aid a Spirit lost in crime,
I have no hope but thee—

‘Yet will I swear, No saint on high
A truer faith could prove—
No angel, from that holy sky,
Could give thee purer love!

‘For thee, through never ending years
I'd suffer endless pain;
But only give me back my tears
Return my love again!’