Шарлотта Бронте (Charlotte Brontё)

On the Death of Anne Brontë

THERE 's little joy in life for me,
      And little terror in the grave;
I 've lived the parting hour to see
      Of one I would have died to save.

Calmly to watch the failing breath,
      Wishing each sigh might be the last;
Longing to see the shade of death
      O'er those belovèd features cast.

The cloud, the stillness that must part
      The darling of my life from me;
And then to thank God from my heart,
      To thank Him well and fervently;

Although I knew that we had lost
      The hope and glory of our life;
And now, benighted, tempest-tossed,
      Must bear alone the weary strife. 

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