Emily Jane Bronte: Все стихи поэта

Все стихи Оригиналы Переводы

1 2 3 4 5 › »

Stanzas To - - - -

Well, some may hate, and some may scorn,

And some may quite forget thy name;

But my sad heart must ever mourn

Thy ruined hopes, thy blighted fame!

'Twas thus I thought, an hour ago,

Even weeping o'er that wretch's woe;

One word turned back my gushing tears,

And lit my altered eye with sneers.

by Emily Jane Bronte

Warning And Reply

In the earth—the earth—thou shalt be laid,

A grey stone standing over thee;

Black mould beneath thee spread,

And black mould to cover thee.

"Well—there is rest there,

So fast come thy prophecy;

The time when my sunny hair

Shall with grass roots entwined be."

by Emily Jane Bronte

Song

The linnet in the rocky dells,

The moor-lark in the air,

The bee among the heather bells

That hide my lady fair:

The wild deer browse above her breast;

The wild birds raise their brood;

And they, her smiles of love caressed,

Have left her solitude!

by Emily Jane Bronte

How beautiful the Earth is still

To thee–how full of Happiness;

How little fraught with real ill

Or shadowy phantoms of distress;

How Spring can bring thee glory yet

And Summer win thee to forget

December's sullen time!

Why dost thou hold the treasure fast

by Emily Jane Bronte

Often rebuked, yet always back returning

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:

Today, I will not seek the shadowy region;

Its unsustaining vastness waxes drear;

And visions rising, legion after legion,

Bring the unreal world too strangely near.

by Emily Jane Bronte

The Bluebell

The Bluebell is the sweetest flower

That waves in summer air:

Its blossoms have the mightiest power

To soothe my spirit's care.

There is a spell in purple heath

Too wildly, sadly dear;

The violet has a fragrant breath,

But fragrance will not cheer,

by Emily Jane Bronte

The Wanderer From The Fold

How few, of all the hearts that loved,

Are grieving for thee now;

And why should mine to-night be moved

With such a sense of woe?

Too often thus, when left alone,

Where none my thoughts can see,

Comes back a word, a passing tone

From thy strange history.

by Emily Jane Bronte

'Tis moonlight

'TIS moonlight, summer moonlight,

All soft and still and fair;

The solemn hour of midnight

Breathes sweet thoughts everywhere,

But most where trees are sending

Their breezy boughs on high,

Or stooping low are lending

A shelter from the sky.

by Emily Jane Bronte

The Elder's Rebuke

"Listen! When your hair, like mine,

Takes a tint of silver gray;

When your eyes, with dimmer shine,

Watch life's bubbles float away:

When you, young man, have borne like me

The weary weight of sixty-three,

Then shall penance sore be paid

For those hours so wildly squandered;

by Emily Jane Bronte

Stanzas

I'll not weep that thou art going to leave me,

There's nothing lovely here;

And doubly will the dark world grieve me,

While thy heart suffers there.

I'll not weep, because the summer's glory

Must always end in gloom;

And, follow out the happiest story—

It closes with a tomb!

by Emily Jane Bronte

The Lady To Her Guitar

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?

It is as if the warm sunlight

In some deep glen should lingering stay,

When clouds of storm, or shades of night,

Have wrapt the parent orb away.

by Emily Jane Bronte

Self-Interogation

"The evening passes fast away.

'Tis almost time to rest;

What thoughts has left the vanished day,

What feelings in thy breast?

"The vanished day? It leaves a sense

Of labour hardly done;

Of little gained with vast expense—

A sense of grief alone?

by Emily Jane Bronte