Poem by Anne Brontë

* * *

Oh, they have robbed me of the hope
My spirit held so dear;
They will not let me hear that voice
My soul delights to hear.
They will not let me see that face
I so delight to see;
And they have taken all thy smiles,
And all thy love from me.

Well, let them seize on all they can: --
One treasure still is mine, --
A heart that loves to think on thee,
And feels the worth of thine. 

1. Vanitas Vanitatis, Etc
2. My God! O Let Me Call Thee Mine!
3. Fluctuations
4. Lines Written from Home
5. A Word to the Calvinists

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