A Day Dream

On a sunny brae, alone I lay
One summer afternoon;
It was the marriage-time of May
With her young lover, June.

From her mother's heart, seemed loath to part
That queen of bridal charms,
But her father smiled on the fairest child
He ever held in his arms.

The trees did wave their plumy crests,
The glad birds caroled clear;
And I, of all the wedding guests,
Was only sullen there!

There was not one, but wished to shun
My aspect void of cheer;
The very grey rocks, looking on,
Asked, "What do you here?"

And I could utter no reply;
In sooth, I did not know
Why I had brought a clouded eye
To greet the general glow.

So, resting on a heathy bank,
I took my heart to me;
And we together sadly sank
Into a reverie.

We thought, "When winter comes again,
Where will these bright things be?
All vanished, like a vision vain,
An unreal mockery!

The birds that now so blithely sing,
Through deserts, frozen dry,
Poor spectres of the perished spring,
In famished troops, will fly.

And why should we be glad at all?
The leaf is hardly green,
Before a token of its fall
Is on the surface seen!"

Now, whether it were really so,
I never could be sure;
But as in fit of peevish woe,
I stretched me on the moor.

A thousand thousand gleaming fires
Seemed kindling in the air;
A thousand thousand silvery lyres
Resounded far and near:

Methought, the very breath I breathed
Was full of sparks divine,
And all my heather-couch was wreathed
By that celestial shine!

And, while the wide earth echoing rung
To their strange minstrelsy,
The little glittering spirits sung,
Or seemed to sing, to me.

"O mortal! mortal! let them die;
Let time and tears destroy,
That we may overflow the sky
With universal joy!

Let grief distract the sufferer's breast,
And night obscure his way;
They hasten him to endless rest,
And everlasting day.

To thee the world is like a tomb,
A desert's naked shore;
To us, in unimagined bloom,
It brightens more and more!

And could we lift the veil, and give
One brief glimpse to thine eye,
Thou wouldst rejoice for those that live,
Because they live to die."

The music ceased; the noonday dream,
Like dream of night, withdrew;
But Fancy, still, will sometimes deem
Her fond creation true.

by Emily Jane Brontë

Comments (6)

K, this rocks! - Happiness in the little things in life, acceptance, true love, encapsulated in a fine write. t x
Hey Kristin, k that was a beautiful poem, Great work.
Good girl Kristin, this is just what you wanna do and you must keep saying and doing it. It is just what I wanna do too. Thanks for saying it for me. Smiling at you, tingling again, but with a tear and a cheer! ! ! You are really kicking that illness into touch in my opinion, Tai
POETESS K., YOU SPUNKY TEMPTRESS OF LITERARY EXPELLINGS.YOU DO KNOW HOW TO WOOOO & WOW! YOU ALSO (IT APPEARS) HAVE THE FLAIR FOR SOME KICK-A** LYRICALS....GREAT PIECE MISS KRIS...YOU DO INDEED ROCK! '''''''''''''''''''''''''FRANK(frankster)
It almost sounds like slam poetry (my favorite kind) . I think it's amazing. By the second or third stanza, I was totally caught up in it. Question: don't we ALL wanna...? Eni da Kid
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