Poem by Emily Jane Brontë

The Old Stoic

Riches I hold in light esteem;
And Love I laugh to scorn;
And lust of fame was but a dreem
That vanished with the morn.

And if I pray, the only prayer
That moves my lips for me
Is, 'Leave the heart that now I bear,
And give me liberty !'

Yes, as me swift days near their goal,
'Tis all that I implore;
In life and death, a chainless soul,
With courage to endure.

1. The Elder's Rebuke
2. Warning and Reply
3. The Wind Was Rough Which Tore
4. Often Rebuked, Yet Always Back Returning
5. If Grief For Grief Can Touch Thee

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