No coward soul is mine by Emily Brontë
My sincerest apologies for not starting up the PotD sooner. I had a wonderful trip to England, but it took me some time to get over the jet lag and I’ve been trying to get caught up at home. No more excuses, though! Anyway, my pilgrimage to Yorkshire has rekindled my Brontë-mania. Here’s a poem by Emily, the one of the three sisters most surrounded in mystery, but the one with the most poetic talent, in my opinion. I doubt anyone will ever truly understand her motivations and inspirations since many of her personal writings have not survived, but that can’t stop us from benefiting from her poems!
No coward soul is mine
By Emily Brontë
No coward soul is mine,
No trembler in the worlds storm-troubled sphere:
I see Heavens glories shine,
And faith shines equal, arming me from fear.
O God within my breast.
Almighty, ever-present Deity!
Life—that in me has rest,
As I—Undying Life—have power in Thee!
Vain are the thousand creeds
That move men’s hearts: unutterably vain;
Worthless as withered weeds,
Or idlest froth amid the boundless main,
To waken doubt in one
Holding so fast by Thine infinity;
So surely anchored on
The steadfast Rock of immortality.
With wide-embracing love
Thy Spirit animates eternal years,
Pervades and broods above,
Changes, sustains, dissolves, creates, and rears.
Though earth and man were gone,
And suns and universes ceased to be,
And Thou wert left alone,
Every existence would exist in Thee.
There is not room for Death,
Nor atom that his might could render void:
Thou—Thou art Being and Breath,
And what Thou art may never be destroyed.
I was wondering if you had read jewel Kilchers A Night Without Armor? Most of the poems are terrible but the absolute best of the worst is Sausages.
Do you have any poems about Alice In Wonderland-y type experiences?
Byee.