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Poem by Emily Jane Brontë


Hope


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

She was cruel in her fear;
Through the bars, one dreary day,
I looked out to see her there,
And she turned her face away!

Like a false guard, false watch keeping,
Still, in strife, she whispered peace;
She would sing while I was weeping;
If I listened, she would cease.

False she was, and unrelenting;
When my last joys strewed the ground,
Even Sorrow saw, repenting,
Those sad relics scattered round;

Hope, whose whisper would have given
Balm to all my frenzied pain,
Stretched her wings, and soared to heaven,
Went, and ne'er returned again! 



Emily Jane Brontë


Emily Jane Brontë's other poems:
  1. Self-Interrogation
  2. Honour's Martyr
  3. The Wanderer from the Fold
  4. The Philosopher
  5. Yes, Holy Be Thy Resting Place


Poems of the other poets with the same name:

  • Joseph Addison Hope ("Our lives, discoloured with our present woes")
  • Oliver Goldsmith Hope ("To the last moment of his breath")
  • George Herbert Hope ("I gave to Hope a watch of mine: but he")
  • Charlotte Smith Hope ("Parody on Lord Strangford's")
  • Joseph Drake Hope ("See through yon cloud that rolls in wrath")

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