Author: Anne Bronte

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    Why, when I hear the stormy breath
    Of the wild winter wind
    Rushing o'er the mountain heath,
    Does sadness fill my mind?

    For long ago I loved to lie
    Upon the pathless moor,
    To hear the wild wind rushing by
    With never ceasing roar;

    Its sound was music then to me;
    Its wild and lofty voice
    Made by heart beat exultingly
    And my whole soul rejoice.

    But now, how different is the sound?
    It takes another tone,
    And howls along the barren ground
    With melancholy moan.

    Why does the warm light of the sun
    No longer cheer my eyes?
    And why is all the beauty gone
    From rosy morning skies?

    Beneath this lone and dreary hill
    There is a lovely vale;
    The purling of a crystal rill,
    The sighing of the gale,

    The sweet voice of the singing bird,
    The wind among the trees,
    Are ever in that valley heard;
    While every passing breeze

    Is loaded with the pleasant scent
    Of wild and lovely flowers.
    To yonder vales I often went
    To pass my evening hours.

    Last evening when I wandered there
    To soothe my weary heart,
    Why did the unexpected tear
    From my sad eyelid start?

    Why did the trees, the buds, the stream
    Sing forth so joylessly?
    And why did all the valley seem
    So sadly changed to me?

    I plucked a primrose young and pale
    That grew beneath a tree
    And then I hastened from the vale
    Silent and thoughtfully.

    Soon I was near my lofty home,
    But when I cast my eye
    Upon that flower so fair and lone
    Why did I heave a sigh?

    I thought of taking it again
    To the valley where it grew.
    But soon I spurned that thought as vain
    And weak and childish too.

    And then I cast that flower away
    To die and wither there;
    But when I found it dead today
    Why did I shed a tear?

    O why are things so changed to me?
    What gave me joy before
    Now fills my heart with misery,
    And nature smiles no more.

    And why are all the beauties gone
    From this my native hill?
    Alas! my heart is changed alone:
    Nature is constant still.

    For when the heart is free from care,
    Whatever meets the eye
    Is bright, and every sound we hear
    Is full of melody.

    The sweetest strain, the wildest wind,
    The murmur of a stream,
    To the sad and weary mind
    Like doleful death knells seem.

    Father! thou hast long been dead,
    Mother! thou art gone,
    Brother! thou art far away,
    And I am left alone.

    Long before my mother died
    I was sad and lone,
    And when she departed too
    Every joy was flown.

    But the world's before me now,
    Why should I despair?
    I will not spend my days in vain,
    I will not linger here!

    There is still a cherished hope
    To cheer me on my way;
    It is burning in my heart
    With a feeble ray.

    I will cheer the feeble spark
    And raise it to a flame;
    And it shall light me through the world,
    And lead me on to fame.

    I leave thee then, my childhood's home,
    For all thy joys are gone;
    I leave thee through the world to roam
    In search of fair renown,

    From such a hopeless home to part
    Is happiness to me,
    For nought can charm my weary heart
    Except activity.

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Type of Poem: Reflective Poem

Date Written:

Date Published:

Language: English

Keywords: Public Domain

Source: Public Domain Collection

Publisher:

Rights/Permissions: Public Domain

Comments/Notes: This poem is a poignant exploration of loss, change, and the passage of time, set against the backdrop of nature. The speaker uses vivid imagery of the natural world to illustrate their shifting mental state, with the stormy winter wind and the barren ground reflecting their inner turmoil and sadness. The poem's tone evolves from melancholic reflection to a determined resolve, mirroring the speaker's journey from mourning to acceptance and hope.

The structure of the poem, a series of rhetorical questions followed by contemplative responses, powerfully conveys the speaker's introspection and longing for the past. A key theme is the contrast between the constancy of nature and the inevitability of personal change. This is particularly visible in the lines "Alas! my heart is changed alone: / Nature is constant still."

The repeated motif of the primrose, a symbol of youthful innocence, underscores the speaker's lost joy and their struggle to reconnect with their past. The speaker's decision to discard the flower represents their acceptance of change and their readiness to move forward, despite the pain of leaving behind familiar comforts.

The poem concludes on a hopeful note, with the speaker expressing a determined resolution to nurture the "feeble spark" of hope and pursue a life of activity and renown. This shift from despair to hope underscores the poem's central message: that change, while painful, can also be a catalyst for personal growth and transformation.