Cold in the earth—and the deep snow piled above thee,
Far, far removed, cold in the dreary grave!
Have I forgot, my only Love, to love thee,
Sever’d at last by Time’s all-severing wave?

Now, when alone, do my thoughts no longer hover
Over the mountains, on that...

Poet: Emily Bronte

I see thee still! thou art not dead,
  Though dust is mingled with thy form;
The broken sunbeam hath not shed
  The final rainbow on the storm:
In visions of the midnight deep,
  Thine accents through my bosom thrill
Till joy’s fond impulse bids me...

I think that we retain of our dead friends
And absent ones no general portraiture;
That perfect memory does not long endure,
But fades and fades until our own life ends.
Unconsciously, forgetfulness attends
That grief for which there is no other cure,...

Under the apple bough
    Love, in a dream of leaves,
Dreamed we of love, as now,—
    All that gives beauty or grieves.

Over the sad world then
    Curved like the sky that bough;
I was in heaven then,—
    You are in heaven now.

Remembrance has a Rear and Front —

'Tis something like a House —

It has a Garret also

For Refuse and the Mouse.


Besides the deepest Cellar

That ever Mason laid —

Look to it by its Fathoms
...

Poet:

        Night closes round me, and wild threatening forms

            Clasp me with icy arms and chain me down,

            And bind upon my brow a cypress crown,

        Dewy with tears, and heaven frowns dark with storms;
...

Poet:

You cannot make Remembrance grow

When it has lost its Root —

The tightening the Soil around

And setting it upright

Deceives perhaps the Universe

But not retrieves the Plant —

Real Memory, like Cedar Feet...

Poet: