Saturday, March 23, 2013

Classic Poetry ~ "Memory " by Anne Brontë

 Anne Brontë, 1820-1849


Anne Brontë, the youngest of the three sisters featured here, was also both novelist and poet. She lived most of her life with her family, leaving her hometown for two years of boarding school followed by 6 years as a governess. When she was 25 she returned home to focus on writing. After producing a volume of poetry in collaboration with Charlotte and Emily, she quickly wrote two novels, Agnes Grey and The Tenant of Wildfell Hall. Unlike her more famous sisters, Anne eschewed romantics and wrote in a realistic, often ironic, style. She died at the age of 29.

Memory

Brightly the sun of summer shone,
Green fields and waving woods upon,
And soft winds wandered by;
Above, a sky of purest blue,
Around, bright flowers of loveliest hue,
Allured the gazer's eye.
But what were all these charms to me,
When one sweet breath of memory
Came gently wafting by?
I closed my eyes against the day,
And called my willing soul away,
From earth, and air, and sky;

That I might simply fancy there
One little flower -- a primrose fair,
Just opening into sight;
As in the days of infancy,
An opening primrose seemed to me
A source of strange delight.

Sweet Memory! ever smile on me;
Nature's chief beauties spring from thee,
Oh, still thy tribute bring!
Still make the golden crocus shine
Among the flowers the most divine,
The glory of the spring.

Still in the wall-flower's fragrance dwell;
And hover round the slight blue bell,
My childhood's darling flower.
Smile on the little daisy still,
The buttercup's bright goblet fill
With all thy former power.

For ever hang thy dreamy spell
Round mountain star and heather bell,
And do not pass away
From sparkling frost, or wreathed snow,
And whisper when the wild winds blow,
Or rippling waters play.

Is childhood, then, so all divine?
Or Memory, is the glory thine,
That haloes thus the past?
Not all divine; its pangs of grief,
(Although, perchance, their stay be brief,)
Are bitter while they last.

Nor is the glory all thine own,
For on our earliest joys alone
That holy light is cast.
With such a ray, no spell of thine
Can make our later pleasures shine,
Though long ago they passed.

Acton 

9 comments:

  1. I have enjoyed your series on the Brontes, Kim. I am amazed that Ann Bronte could have been both a poet and a novelist and die at age 29...when a lot of poets and novelists are perhaps just beginning. She writes with wisdom beyond her years.

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    1. She achieved much before her early death. I am going to miss the Bronte sisters... wish there had been a few more to explore! Happy Saturday, all! (...had to fix a typo!...)

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    2. Lots of great information and inspiration, both of which we all need, thanks for all the enthusiasm to offer such helpful information here.
      Visits My sites>Meditation uk

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  3. I adore the Brontes and it is tragic they all died so young - brilliantly talented recluses that they were. I have enjoyed meeting them again here, Kim. Thank you for bringing us another peek.

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    1. Congrats! What a relief wew! Yeah! Upward and onward!!! Here's to health and happiness. You deserve it. :)
      Visits My sites>Meditation uk

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  4. That is a sketch of Charlotte Bronte, not Anne.

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