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Publié par Moicani

Publication en 1846 des poèmes des sœurs Brontë, sous leurs pseudonymes de Currer (Charlotte), Ellis (Emily) et Acton (Anne) Bell.


    MY soul is awakened, my spirit is soaring
    And carried aloft on the wings of the breeze;
    For above and around me the wild wind is roaring,
    Arousing to rapture the earth and the seas.

    The long withered grass in the sunshine is glancing,
    The bare trees are tossing their branches on high;
    The dead leaves beneath them are merrily dancing,
    The white clouds are scudding across the blue sky

    I wish I could see how the ocean is lashing
    The foam of its billows to whirlwinds of spray;
    I wish I could see how its proud waves are dashing,
    And hear the wild roar of their thunder to-day!

Anne Bronte


    BUT two miles more, and then we rest!
    Well, there is still an hour of day,
    And long the brightness of the West
    Will light us on our devious way;
    Sit then, awhile, here in this wood--
    So total is the solitude,
    We safely may delay.

    These massive roots afford a seat,
    Which seems for weary travellers made.
    There rest. The air is soft and sweet
    In this sequestered forest glade,
    And there are scents of flowers around,
    The evening dew draws from the ground;
    How soothingly they spread!

    Yes; I was tired, but not at heart;
    No--that beats full of sweet content,
    For now I have my natural part
    Of action with adventure blent;
    Cast forth on the wide world with thee,
    And all my once waste energy
    To weighty purpose bent.

    Yet--sayst thou, spies around us roam,
    Our aims are termed conspiracy?
    Haply, no more our English home
    An anchorage for us may be?
    That there is risk our mutual blood
    May redden in some lonely wood
    The knife of treachery?

    Sayst thou, that where we lodge each night,
    In each lone farm, or lonelier hall
    Of Norman Peer--ere morning light
    Suspicion must as duly fall,
    As day returns--such vigilance
    Presides and watches over France,
    Such rigour governs all?

    I fear not, William; dost thou fear?
    So that the knife does not divide,
    It may be ever hovering near:
    I could not tremble at thy side,
    And strenuous love--like mine for thee--
    Is buckler strong 'gainst treachery,
    And turns its stab aside.

    I am resolved that thou shalt learn
    To trust my strength as I trust thine;
    I am resolved our souls shall burn
    With equal, steady, mingling shine;
    Part of the field is conquered now,
    Our lives in the same channel flow,
    Along the self-same line;

    And while no groaning storm is heard,
    Thou seem'st content it should be so,
    But soon as comes a warning word
    Of danger--straight thine anxious brow
    Bends over me a mournful shade,
    As doubting if my powers are made
    To ford the floods of woe.

    Know, then it is my spirit swells,
    And drinks, with eager joy, the air
    Of freedom--where at last it dwells,
    Chartered, a common task to share
    With thee, and then it stirs alert,
    And pants to learn what menaced hurt
    Demands for thee its care.

    Remember, I have crossed the deep,
    And stood with thee on deck, to gaze
    On waves that rose in threatening heap,
    While stagnant lay a heavy haze,
    Dimly confusing sea with sky,
    And baffling, even, the pilot's eye,
    Intent to thread the maze--

    Of rocks, on Bretagne's dangerous coast,
    And find a way to steer our band
    To the one point obscure, which lost,
    Flung us, as victims, on the strand;--
    All, elsewhere, gleamed the Gallic sword,
    And not a wherry could be moored
    Along the guarded land.

    I feared not then--I fear not now;
    The interest of each stirring scene
    Wakes a new sense, a welcome glow,
    In every nerve and bounding vein ;
    Alike on turbid Channel sea,
    Or in still wood of Normandy,
    I feel as born again.

    The rain descended that wild morn
    When, anchoring in the cove at last,
    Our band, all weary and forlorn
    Ashore, like wave-worn sailors, cast--
    Sought for a sheltering roof in vain,
    And scarce could scanty food obtain
    To break their morning fast.

    Thou didst thy crust with me divide,
    Thou didst thy cloak around me fold;
    And, sitting silent by thy side,
    I ate the bread in peace untold:
    Given kindly from thy hand, 'twas sweet
    As costly fare or princely treat
    On royal plate of gold.

    Sharp blew the sleet upon my face,
    And, rising wild, the gusty wind
    Drove on those thundering waves apace,
    Our crew so late had left behind;
    But, spite of frozen shower and storm,
    So close to thee, my heart beat warm,
    And tranquil slept my mind.

    So now--nor foot-sore nor opprest
    With walking all this August day,
    I taste a heaven in this brief rest,
    This gipsy-halt beside the way.
    England's wild flowers are fair to view,
    Like balm is England's summer dew
    Like gold her sunset ray.

    But the white violets, growing here,
    Are sweeter than I yet have seen,
    And ne'er did dew so pure and clear
    Distil on forest mosses green,
    As now, called forth by summer heat,
    Perfumes our cool and fresh retreat--
    These fragrant limes between.

    That sunset! Look beneath the boughs,
    Over the copse--beyond the hills;
    How soft, yet deep and warm it glows,
    And heaven with rich suffusion fills;
    With hues where still the opal's tint,
    Its gleam of prisoned fire is blent,
    Where flame through azure thrills!

    Depart we now--for fast will fade
    That solemn splendour of decline,
    And deep must be the after-shade
    As stars alone to-night will shine;
    No moon is destined--pale--to gaze
    On such a day's vast
    Phoenix blaze,
    A day in fires decayed!

    There--hand-in-hand we tread again
    The mazes of this varying wood,
    And soon, amid a cultured plain,
    Girt in with fertile solitude,
    We shall our resting-place descry,
    Marked by one roof-tree, towering high
    Above a farmstead rude.

    Refreshed, erelong, with rustic fare,
    We'll seek a couch of dreamless ease;
    Courage will guard thy heart from fear,
    And Love give mine divinest peace:
    To-morrow brings more dangerous toil,
    And through its conflict and turmoil
    We'll pass, as God shall please.

Charlotte Bronte



    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!

Emily Brontë

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