At Castle Wood By Emily Bronte

AT CASTLE WOOD BY EMILY BRONTE

The day is done, the winter sun

Is setting in its sullen sky;

And drear the course that has been run,

And dim the beams that slowly die.


No star will light my coming night;

No moon of hope for me will shine;

I mourn not Heaven would blast my sight,

And I never longed for ways divine.


Through Life's hard task I did not ask

Celestial aid, celestial cheer:

I saw my fate without its mask,

And met it too without a tear.


The grief that prest this living breast

Was heavier far than earth can be;

And who would dread eternal rest

When labour's hire was agony?


Dark falls the fear of this despair

On spirits born for happiness;

But I was bred the mate of care,

The foster-child of sore distress.


No sighs for me, no sympathy,

No wish to keep my souls below;

The heart is dead sinc
e infancy,

Unwept-for let the body go.

©Emily Bronte (poem written 2nd Feb. 1844)
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