agonia english v3 |
Agonia.Net | Policy | Mission | Contact | Participate | ||||
Article Communities Contest Essay Multimedia Personals Poetry Press Prose _QUOTE Screenplay Special | ||||||
|
||||||
agonia Recommended Reading
■ Escapism
Romanian Spell-Checker Contact |
- - -
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 2008-03-07 | | Submited by Marius Surleac
“At Castle Wood”
By Emily Brontë “The day is done, the winter sun Is setting in its sullen sky; And drear the course that has been run, And dim the hearts that slowly die. No star will light my coming night; No morn of hope for me will shine; I mourn not heaven would blast my sight, And I ne'er longed for joys divine. Through life's hard task I did not ask Celestial aid, celestial cheer; I saw my fate without its mask, And met it too without a tear. The grief that pressed my aching breast Was heavier far than earth can be; And who would dread eternal rest When labour's hour was agony? Dark falls the fear of this despair On spirits born of happiness; But I was bred the mate of care, The foster-child of sore distress. No sighs for me, no sympathy, No wish to keep my soul below; The heart is dead in infancy, Unwept-for let the body go.”
|
||||||||
Home of Literature, Poetry and Culture. Write and enjoy articles, essays, prose, classic poetry and contests. | |||||||||
Reproduction of any materials without our permission is strictly prohibited.
Copyright 1999-2003. Agonia.Net
E-mail | Privacy and publication policy