Emily Bronte (1818 - 1848)

Emily Brontë (July 30, 1818 - December 19, was a British novelist and poet, best remembered for her one novel Wuthering Heights, an acknowledged classic of English literature.

Emily was born at Thornton in Yorkshire, the younger sister of Charlotte Brontë and the fifth of six children. In 1820, the family moved to Haworth, where Emily's father was rector, and it was in these surroundings that their literary talent flourished. In childhood, after the death of their mother, the three sisters and her brother Branwell created imaginary lands (Gondal, Angria, Gaaldine), which featured in stories they wrote. Few of Emily's work from this period survives, except for poems spoken by characters (The Brontës' Web of Childhood, Fannie Ratchford, 1941).

In 1837, Emily commenced work as a governess at Law Hill, near Halifax. Later, with her sister Charlotte, she attended college in Brussels.

It was the discovery of Emily's poetic talent by her family that led her and her sisters, Charlotte and Anne, to publish a joint collection of their poetry in 1845. Owing to the prejudices on female writers, all three used male pseudonyms, Emily's being "Ellis Bell".

She subsequently published her only novel, Wuthering Heights, in 1847. Although it received mixed reviews when it first came out, the book subsequently became an English literary classic.

Like her sisters, Emily's constitution had been weakened by their harsh life at home and at school. She died on December 19, 1848 of tuberculosis, having caught a chill during the funeral of her brother in September, and was interred in the Church of St. Michael and All Angels Cemetery, Haworth, West Yorkshire, England.

The poems are by default sorted according to volume, but you can also choose to sort them alphabetically or by page views.

First Line	Comments
A little while, a little while,
Ah! why, because the dazzling sun
Cold in the earth—and the deep snow piled above thee,
Come hither, child--who gifted thee
Come, walk with me,
Death! that struck when I was most confiding
Fall, leaves, fall; die, flowers, away;
Far, far away is mirth withdrawn
High waving heather 'neath stormy blasts bending,
Hope was but a timid friend;
How beautiful the earth is still,
How clear she shines! How quietly
How still, how happy! Those are words
I am the only being whose doom	5 Comments
I see around me tombstones grey
If grief for grief can touch thee,
In summer's mellow midnight,
In the dungeon-crypts, idly did I stray,
It was a little budding rose,
I'll not weep that thou art going to leave me,
Love is like the wild rose-briar,	1 Comment
Me thinks this heart should rest awhile
Mild the mist upon the hill
No coward soul is mine,
NO coward soul is mine,
O, thy bright eyes must answer now,
Often rebuked, yet always back returning
Oh, for the time when I shall sleep
Oh, thy bright eyes must answer now,
On a sunny brae, alone I lay
Riches I hold in light esteem,
Shall Earth no more inspire thee,
She dried her tears and they did smile
Silent is the house: all are laid asleep:
Still let my tyrants know, I am not doomed to wear
That wind I used to hear it swelling
The blue bell is the sweetest flower
The day is done, the winter sun
The evening passes fast away,
The linnet in the rocky dells,
THE linnet in the rocky dells,
The moon is full this winter night;
The night is darkening round me,	1 Comment
The night is darkening round me,
The sun has set, and the long grass now
The wind was rough which tore
The winter wind is loud and wild,
There should be no despair for you
Well hast thou spoken, and yet, not taught
When weary with the long day's care,
Yes, holy be thy resting place
"Enough of thought, philosopher!
"O day! he cannot die	1 Comment
'Tis moonlight, summer moonlight,
'Tis moonlight, summer moonlight,	1 Comment