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Emily Jane Bronte - My Comforter
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Well hast thou spoken, and yet, not taught 
  A feeling strange or new; 
Thou hast but roused a latent thought, 
A cloud-closed beam of sunshine, brought 
  To gleam in open view. 

Deep down, concealed within my soul, 
  That light lies hid from men; 
Yet, glows unquenched-though shadows roll, 
Its gentle ray cannot control, 
  About the sullen den. 

Was I not vexed, in these gloomy ways 
  To walk alone so long ? 
Around me, wretches uttering praise, 
Or howling o`er their hopeless days, 
  And each with Frenzy`s tongue;- 

A brotherhood of misery, 
  Their smiles as sad as sighs; 
Whose madness daily maddened me, 
Distorting into agony 
  The bliss before my eyes ! 

So stood I, in Heaven`s glorious sun, 
  And in the glare of Hell; 
My spirit drank a mingled tone, 
Of seraph`s song, and demon`s moan; 
What my soul bore, my soul alone 
  Within itself may tell ! 

Like a soft air, above a sea, 
  Tossed by the tempest`s stir; 
A thaw-wind, melting quietly 
The snow-drift, on some wintry lea; 
No: what sweet thing resembles thee, 
  My thoughtful Comforter ? 

And yet a little longer speak, 
  Calm this resentful mood; 
And while the savage heart grows meek, 
For other token do not seek, 
But let the tear upon my cheek 
  Evince my gratitude !
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