Emily bronte poems about death of mother

Leaves, upon Time's branch, were growing brightly, Full of sap, and full of silver dew; Birds beneath its shelter gathered nightly; Daily round its flowers the wild bees flew. Sorrow passed, and plucked the golden blossom; Guilt stripped off the foliage in its pride; But, within its parent's kindly bosom, Flowed for ever Life's restoring tide.

Little mourned I for the parted gladness, For the vacant nest and silent song— Hope was there, and laughed me out of sadness; Whispering, 'Winter will not linger long! And, behold! Cruel Death! The young leaves droop and languish; Evening's gentle air may still restore— No! Strike it down, that other boughs may flourish Where that perished sapling used to be; Thus, at least, its mouldering corpse will nourish That from which it sprung—Eternity.

Remembrance poem they shall not grow old

The date of this poem as given by Miss Robinson is Page Source Discussion. Read Edit View history. Tools Tools. In other projects.