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Emily Jane Brontë: The Complete Poems

Edited by Janet Gezari
Brontë, Emily (1818-1848)
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expand sectionI. 
I. Poems Published in 1846
collapse sectionII. 
II. Dated Poems
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23. A. G. A. to A. E.
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27. Lines
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32. To a Wreath of Snow
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33. Song by Julius Angora
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46. Song to A. A.
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48. A. G. A. to A. S.
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49. Gleneden's Dream
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61. Douglas's Ride
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66. Song by Julius Brenzaida
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67. Song by J. Brenzaida to G. S.
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82. Song
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84. To the Blue Bell
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87. Lines by Claudia
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89. Written on Returning to the P. of I. on the 10th of January 1827
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92. A Farewell to Alexandria
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112. Written in the Gaaldine Prison Caves to A. G. A.
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118. The Night-Wind
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125. Geraldine
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126. Rosina
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127. A. S. to G. S.
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128. H. A. and A. S.
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129. Written in Aspin Castle
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131. On the Fall of Zalona
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133. To A. S. 1830
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134. E. G. to M. R.
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136. To A. G. A.
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140. Rodric Lesley. 1830
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142. M. G. for the U. S.
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143. At Castle Wood
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148. The Death of A. G. A.
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154. From a Dungeon Wall in the Southern College
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162. A. E. and R. C.
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164. M. A. Written on the Dungeon Wall—N. C.
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165. Julian M. and A. G. Rochelle
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expand sectionIII. 
III. Undated Poems
expand sectionIV. 
IV. Poems of Doubtful Authorship

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86

76.

[Loud without the wind was roaring]

Loud without the wind was roaring
Through the waned Autumnal sky,
Drenching wet, the cold rain pouring
Spoke of stormy winters nigh.
All too like that dreary eve
Sighed within repining grief—
Sighed at first—but sighed not long
Sweet—How softly sweet it came!
Wild words of an ancient song—
Undefined, without a name—
‘It was spring, for the skylark was singing.’
Those words they awakened a spell—
They unlocked a deep fountain whose springing
Nor Absence nor Distance can quell.
In the gloom of a cloudy November
They uttered the music of May—
They kindled the perishing ember
Into fervour that could not decay
Awaken on all my dear moorlands
The wind in its glory and pride!
O call me from valleys and highlands
To walk by the hill-river's side!
It is swelled with the first snowy weather;
The rocks they are icy and hoar
And darker waves round the long heather
And the fern-leaves are sunny no more
There are no yellow-stars on the mountain,
The blue bells have long died away
From the brink of the moss-bedded fountain,
From the side of the wintery brae—
87

But lovelier than corn-fields all waving
In emerald and scarlet and gold
Are the slopes where the north-wind is raving
And the glens where I wandered of old—
‘It was morning; the bright sun was beaming.’
How sweetly that brought back to me
The time when nor labour nor dreaming
Broke the sleep of the happy and free
But blithely we rose as the dusk heaven
Was melting to amber and blue—
And swift were the wings to our feet given
While we traversed the meadows of dew.
For the moors, for the moors where the short grass
Like velvet beneath us should lie!
For the moors, for the moors where each high pass
Rose sunny against the clear sky!
For the moors, where the linnet was trilling
Its song on the old granite stone—
Where the lark—the wild skylark was filling
Every breast with delight like its own.
What language can utter the feeling
That rose when, in exile afar,
On the brow of a lonely hill kneeling
I saw the brown heath growing there.
It was scattered and stunted, and told me
That soon even that would be gone
It whispered, ‘The grim walls enfold me
I have bloomed in my last summer's sun’
But not the loved music whose waking
Makes the soul of the Swiss die away
Has a spell more adored and heart-breaking
Than in its half-blighted bells lay—
88

The spirit that bent 'neath its power
How it longed, how it burned to be free!
If I could have wept in that hour
Those tears had been heaven to me—
Well, well the sad minutes are moving
Though loaded with trouble and pain—
And sometime the loved and the loving
Shall meet on the mountains again—
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