CHARLOTTE BRONTE’S GRAVE.

CHARLOTTE BRONTE'S GRAVE. All overgrown by cunning moss,
All interspersed with weed,
The little cage of ‘Currer Bell,’
In quiet Haworth laid.

This bird, observing others,
When frosts too sharp became,
Retire to other latitudes,
Quietly did the same,

But differed in returning;
Since Yorkshire hills are green,
Yet not in all the nests I meet
Can nightingale be seen.

Gathered from many wanderings,
Gethsemane can tell
Through what transporting anguish
She reached the asphodel!

Soft fall the sounds of Eden
Upon her puzzled ear;
Oh, what an afternoon for heaven,
When ‘Bronte’ entered there!

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I just recently started getting into Emily’s poems. I have fallen in love with her poetry, as many have done before. I found this site, yesterday and happy to know it’s here. I enjoy having a bit of Emily to start my day.

I just finished “My Wars Are Laid Away in Books” and Sewall’s biography. I am fascinated! I would encourage everyone with an interest in ED to begin by traveling to Amherst and visiting the Homestead and The Evergreens. I wrote a piece on my blog about a recent trip I made. If you stay at The Amherst Inn across the street, you can wake early in the morning and walk the path between the houses…