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Poem by Emily Jane Brontë


The Old Stoic


Riches I hold in light esteem;
And Love I laugh to scorn;
And lust of fame was but a dreem
That vanished with the morn.

And if I pray, the only prayer
That moves my lips for me
Is, 'Leave the heart that now I bear,
And give me liberty !'

Yes, as me swift days near their goal,
'Tis all that I implore;
In life and death, a chainless soul,
With courage to endure.



Emily Jane Brontë


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


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