Poem by Emily Jane Brontë

Hope

Hope was but a timid friend;
She sat without the grated den,
Watching how my fate would tend,
Even as selfish-hearted men.

She was cruel in her fear;
Through the bars, one dreary day,
I looked out to see her there,
And she turned her face away!

Like a false guard, false watch keeping,
Still, in strife, she whispered peace;
She would sing while I was weeping;
If I listened, she would cease.

False she was, and unrelenting;
When my last joys strewed the ground,
Even Sorrow saw, repenting,
Those sad relics scattered round;

Hope, whose whisper would have given
Balm to all my frenzied pain,
Stretched her wings, and soared to heaven,
Went, and ne'er returned again! 

1. The Wind Was Rough Which Tore
2. I See Around Me Tombstones Grey
3. Yes, Holy Be Thy Resting Place
4. High Waving Heather 'Neath Stormy Blasts Bending
5. Often Rebuked, Yet Always Back Returning

Mathilde Blind Hope ("All treasures of the earth and opulent seas")

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