Poem by Emily Jane Brontë

* * *

If grief for grief can touch thee,
If answering woe for woe,
If any truth can melt thee
Come to me now!

I cannot be more lonely,
More drear I cannot be!
My worn heart beats so wildly
'Twill break for thee--

And when the world despises--
When Heaven repels my prayer--
Will not mine angel comfort?
Mine idol hear?

Yes, by the tears I'm poured,
By all my hours of pain
O I shall surely win thee,
Beloved, again! 

1. She Dried Her Tears
2. Self-Interrogation
3. Mild the Mist upon the Hill
4. The Wanderer from the Fold
5. The Visionary

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