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| Silhouette of Emily Bronte, by Elizabeth Baverstock |
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Emily Bronte died on this date in 1848. Her bones lay cold and still, silent and restless in her grave, but I am sure her spirit soars and frequents the moorland she loved so much. Of all the Bronte sister's dispositions and temperaments, I am most like Emily. She is like a kindred sister to me. I think it no coincidence that
the other Emily, also a kindred of mine, shared the same name, too.
A DAY DREAM
by: Emily Brontë (1818-1848)
N a
sunny brae alone I lay
One summer afternoon;
It was the marriage-time of May,
With her young lover, June.
-
- From her mother's heart seemed loath to part
That queen of bridal charms,
But her father smiled on the fairest child
He ever held in his arms.
-
- The trees did wave their plumy crests,
The glad birds carolled clear;
And I, of all the wedding guests,
Was only sullen there!
-
- There was not one, but wished to shun
My aspect void of cheer;
The very gray rocks, looking on,
Asked, "What do you here?"
-
- And I could utter no reply;
In sooth, I did not know
Why I had brought a clouded eye
To greet the general glow.
-
- So, resting on a heathy bank,
I took my heart to me;
And we together sadly sank
Into a reverie.
-
- We thought, "When winter comes again,
Where will these bright things be?
All vanished, like a vision vain,
An unreal mockery!
-
- "The birds that now so blithely sing,
Through deserts, frozen dry,
Poor spectres of the perished spring,
In famished troops will fly.
-
- "And why should we be glad at all?
The leaf is hardly green,
Before a token of its fall
Is on the surface seen!"
-
- Now, whether it were really so,
I never could be sure;
But as in fit of peevish woe,
I stretched me on the moor,
-
- A thousand thousand gleaming fires
Seemed kindling in the air;
A thousand thousand silvery lyres
Resounded far and near:
-
- Methought, the very breath I breathed
Was full of sparks divine,
And all my heather-couch was wreathed
By that celestial shine!
-
- And, while the wide earth echoing rung
To that strange minstrelsy
The little glittering spirits sung,
Or seemed to sing, to me:
-
- "O mortal! mortal! let them die;
Let time and tears destroy,
That we may overflow the sky
With universal joy!
-
- "Let grief distract the sufferer's breast,
And night obscure his way;
They hasten him to endless rest,
And everlasting day.
-
- "To thee the world is like a tomb,
A desert's naked shore;
To us, in unimagined bloom,
It brightens more and more!
-
- "And, could we lift the veil, and give
One brief glimpse to thine eye,
Thou wouldst rejoice for those that live,
BECAUSE they live to die."
-
- The music ceased; the noonday dream,
Like dream of night, withdrew;
But Fancy, still, will sometimes deem
Her fond creation true.
