No Coward Soul Is Mine
Emily Brontë
1818–1848
a p enguin since 1946
Emily Brontë
No Coward Soul Is Mine
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The Complete Poems, ed. Janet Gezari, first published by Penguin Books in 1992
This selection published in Penguin Classics 2025 001
The poems ‘The Elder’s Rebuke’ and ‘The Two Children’ appear here as edited by Charlotte Brontë in 1850.
The poem ‘Often rebuked, yet always back returning’ is now widely felt to be by Charlotte Brontë, but is too wonderful to be excluded.
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ISBN : 978–0–241–74676–9
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‘She
dried her tears and they did smile’ 109 ‘Love is like the wild rose briar’ 110 ‘Often rebuked, yet always back returning’ 111
Faith and Despondency
‘The winter wind is loud and wild, Come close to me, my darling child; Forsake thy books, and mateless play; And, while the night is gathering grey, We’ll talk its pensive hours away;–
‘Iernë, round our sheltered hall
November’s gusts unheeded call; Not one faint breath can enter here Enough to wave my daughter’s hair, And I am glad to watch the blaze Glance from her eyes, with mimic rays; To feel her cheek so softly pressed, In happy quiet on my breast.
‘But, yet, even this tranquillity Brings bitter, restless thoughts to me; And, in the red fire’s cheerful glow, I think of deep glens, blocked with snow; I dream of moor, and misty hill, Where evening closes dark and chill; For, lone, among the mountains cold, Lie those that I have loved of old.
And my heart aches, in hopeless pain Exhausted with repinings vain, That I shall greet them ne’er again!’
‘Father, in early infancy, When you were far beyond the sea, Such thoughts were tyrants over me!
I often sat, for hours together, Through the long nights of angry weather, Raised on my pillow, to descry The dim moon struggling in the sky; Or, with strained ear, to catch the shock, Of rock with wave, and wave with rock; So would I fearful vigil keep, And, all for listening, never sleep. But this world’s life has much to dread, Not so, my Father, with the dead.
‘Oh! not for them, should we despair, The grave is drear, but they are not there; Their dust is mingled with the sod, Their happy souls are gone to God! You told me this, and yet you sigh, And murmur that your friends must die.
Ah! my dear father, tell me why?
For, if your former words were true, How useless would such sorrow be; As wise, to mourn the seed which grew Unnoticed on its parent tree,
Because it fell in fertile earth, And sprang up to a glorious birth –Struck deep its root, and lifted high Its green boughs, in the breezy sky.
‘But, I’ll not fear, I will not weep For those whose bodies rest in sleep, –I know there is a blessed shore, Opening its ports for me, and mine; And, gazing Time’s wide waters o’er, I weary for that land divine, Where we were born, where you and I Shall meet our Dearest, when we die; From suffering and corruption free, Restored into the Deity.’
‘Well hast thou spoken, sweet, trustful child! And wiser than thy sire; And worldly tempests, raging wild, Shall strengthen thy desire –Thy fervent hope, through storm and foam, Through wind and ocean’s roar, To reach, at last, the eternal home, The steadfast, changeless, shore!’
Stars
Ah! why, because the dazzling sun Restored our Earth to joy, Have you departed, every one, And left a desert sky?
All through the night, your glorious eyes Were gazing down in mine, And with a full heart’s thankful sighs, I blessed that watch divine.
I was at peace, and drank your beams As they were life to me; And revelled in my changeful dreams, Like petrel on the sea.
Thought followed thought, star followed star, Through boundless regions, on; While one sweet influence, near and far, Thrilled through, and proved us one!
Why did the morning dawn to break So great, so pure, a spell; And scorch with fire, the tranquil cheek, Where your cool radiance fell?