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!

by Emily Jane Brontë

Comments (9)

She would sing while I was weeping; If I listened, she would cease. Stretched her wings, and soared to heaven, Went, and ne'er returned again!
Very good poem i love very much sweet sexy poem i love it
She would sing while I was weeping; If I listened, she would cease. Can closely associate with these lines. Indeed hope is a jolly pal for an aching soul. she would balm with kindness, enlightening our souls.
She would sing while I was weeping; If I listened, she would cease. Can closely associate with these lines... indeed hope is a timid friend. She whispers light when in doom, balms with sunshine and wishful dreams. Beautiful poem! !
...she whispered peace. Nice poem! Well communicated. Sylva
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