Charlotte Bronte (04/21/1816-03/31/1855).
Writer. Artist. Legend.

Parting

There's no use in weeping,
Though we are condemned to part:
There's such a thing as keeping
A remembrance in one's heart:

There's such a thing as dwelling
On the thought ourselves have nursed,
And with scorn and courage telling
The world to do its worst.

We'll not let its follies grieve us,
We'll just take them as they come;
And then every day will leave us
A merry laugh for home.

When we've left each friend and brother,
When we're parted wide and far,
We will think of one another,
As even better than we are.

Every glorious sight above us,
Every pleasant sight beneath,
We'll connect with those that love us,
Whom we truly love till death!

In the evening, when we're sitting
By the fire, perchance alone,
Then shall heart with warm heart meeting,
Give responsive tone for tone.

We can burst the bonds which chain us,
Which cold human hands have wrought,
And where none shall dare restrain us
We can meet again, in thought.

So there's no use in weeping,
Bear a cheerful spirit still;
Never doubt that Fate is keeping
Future good for present ill!

--Currer Bell

A chart I made using Excel:




Dates of special note:

1825: Death of Maria and Elizabeth
1826: The arrival of the Toy Soldiers
1834: Angria formed with Branwell
1839: Worked as governess
1942: Arrival in Brussels
1842: Return to Brussels after Aunt Branwell's death
1846: Publication of Poems; Jane Eyre in the works
1847: Jane Eyre published
1848: Death of Emily
1839: Death of Anne
1849: Ill-health and continued depression
1853: Publication of Villette
1854: Marriage
1855: Death

More information on chronology can be found here

I nominated this poem by Emily Bronte and was pleased to learn that it was chosen to be read at the "My Favorite Poem" evening which will be held next week.
For more information go here

No coward soul is mine
--Emily Bronte (1846)

No coward soul is mine,
No trembler in the world's storm-troubled sphere:
I see Heaven's glories shine,
And faith shines equal, arming me from fear.

O God within my breast,
Almighty, ever-present Deity!
Life--that in me has rest,
As I--undying Life--have power in thee!

Vain are the thousand creeds
That move men's hearts: unutterably vain;
Worthless as withered weeds,
Or idlest froth amid the boundless main,

To waken doubt in one
Holding so fast by thine infinity;
So surely anchored on
The stedfast rock of immortality.

With wide-embracing love
Thy spirit animates eternal years,
Pervades and broods above,
Changes, sustains, dissolves, creates, and rears.

Though earth and man were gone,
And suns and universes ceased to be,
And Thou were left alone,
Every existence would exist in Thee.

There is not room for Death,
Nor atom that his might could render void:
Thou--THOU art Being and Breath,
And what THOU art may never be destroyed