Poem Hunter
(7 January 1820 – 28 May 1849 / Thornton, West Riding of Yorkshire, England)


Poem By Anne Brontë

Oh, I am very weary,
Though tears no longer flow;
My eyes are tires of weeping,
My heart is sick of woe;

My life is very lonely,
My days pass heavily,
I'm wearing of repining,
Wilt thou not come to me?

Oh, didst thou know my longings
For thee, from day to day,
My hopes, so often blighted,
Thou wouldst not thus delay!

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Comments (1)

The feelings of a person who has suffered some or the other setbacks in life have been reflected quite succinctly. But with hope and divine intervention, one can come out of it. Thanks.