On a sunny brae alone I lay
One summer afternoon;
It was the marriage-time of May,
With her young lover, June.

From her mother's heart seemed loath to part
That queen of bridal charms,
But her father smiled on the fairest child
He ever held in his arms.

The trees did wave their plumy crests,
The glad birds carolled clear;
And I, of all the wedding guests,
Was only sullen there!

There was not one, but wished to shun
My aspect void of cheer;
The very gray rocks, looking on,
Asked, "What do you here?"

And I could utter no reply;
In sooth, I did not know
Why I had brought a clouded eye
To greet the general glow.

So, resting on a heathy bank,
I took my heart to me;
And we together sadly sank
Into a reverie.

We thought, "When winter comes again,
Where will these bright things be?
All vanished, like a vision vain,
An unreal mockery!

"The birds that now so blithely sing,
Through deserts, frozen dry,
Poor spectres of the perished spring,
In famished troops will fly.

"And why should we be glad at all?
The leaf is hardly green,
Before a token of its fall
Is on the surface seen!"

Now, whether it were really so,
I never could be sure;
But as in fit of peevish woe,
I stretched me on the moor,

A thousand thousand gleaming fires
Seemed kindling in the air;
A thousand thousand silvery lyres
Resounded far and near:

Methought, the very breath I breathed
Was full of sparks divine,
And all my heather-couch was wreathed
By that celestial shine!

And, while the wide earth echoing rung
To that strange minstrelsy
The little glittering spirits sung,
Or seemed to sing, to me:

"O mortal! mortal! let them die;
Let time and tears destroy,
That we may overflow the sky
With universal joy!

"Let grief distract the sufferer's breast,
And night obscure his way;
They hasten him to endless rest,
And everlasting day.

"To thee the world is like a tomb,
A desert's naked shore;
To us, in unimagined bloom,
It brightens more and more!

"And, could we lift the veil, and give
One brief glimpse to thine eye,
Thou wouldst rejoice for those that live,
BECAUSE they live to die."

The music ceased; the noonday dream,
Like dream of night, withdrew;
But Fancy, still, will sometimes deem
Her fond creation true.



Published in the 1846 collection Poems By Currer, Ellis and Acton Bell under Emily's nom de plume 'Ellis Bell'.

At the bar
in the gym
passing me in your car
holding hands
A quick kiss
watching bands
at the beach
watching a movie
At the store
in the park
you all seem to want more
on you porch
with you pets
holding hands
a game tied at two sets
I sit and watch
and see your quick glimpse
know I wont ever feel that again
I grab the bottle
take a sip
take a chug
you all are happy
I am not
I say good bye
and take one last shot.

My travelers heart crosses maps with all of these words

there is this car-

you know
4 wheels, 2 doors
Mercedes maybe?

and every time
I pass it by
I look twice

I think twice

and I know it
couldn't be you

But I've adopted
this new optimism
& new turbulence

maybe the world is magic
and the eastern plane true

there's fraction of chance
in a passing glance
my eyes will be reflecting you

maybe I'll see you again
and maybe I'm meant to be happy

perhaps this smile is genuine

And so, perhaps,
that is in fact your car

and maybe, in fact,
there is a pull between our hearts

We are all caged

To desires,
                   to jobs,
                               to people,
                   to places and things,
        To the question of whether or not we are living
        To the question of whether or not we are ready to die
                                 There's gaps in the bars where we can see outside

But there is no true escape

Roads are tubes to other parts of the same cage
Forests are nice decorations where we throw all night parties and destroy
The ocean flows and sways
Polluted by a billion people rattling the cage

                  There is no escape

We are all caged

Two steps forward ten steps back, maybe more and I lost track
What am I working toward, I am swimming in this sea of debt
What is the purpose. did I forget it seems meaningless
I seem to be chasing the wind which I can not catch
I know it might be just a rough patch, but it feels like a door without
a latch, making me feel unsecure
I feel like I'm in quicksand, not on solid ground  
Why do I work so hard, is it only to pay the bills
If so it gives me the chills
It sure is a test of my will
Do I labor in vain, all this worry might drive me insane
It all seems meaningless like trying to catch the wind

in the night
the trees lose their bark
and gain a smooth
dark.
they twist in the breeze
and lean moonward
in the rain
sheet.
if the rain
rains
and the moon
looms.

in the night
what crawls,
crawls deepish
and sleepless.
it dreams
wishless...
and scurries in leaf pits
and scents the air-wick
with black
eyes -
inhaling the volume
of silence
without lids
to shut
with.

just an iris
the light
shuns
a bit.

and the moonlight forages
the constant moor
of lesser marshes.

the damp cringe of the late hour
stark with stars with no power
to overcome the poetry
of the lowest things
that aspire
to cold flame
or some heaven's breath
on a dying ember
with no
name.

just before dawn
glass drum skins
crack.
and the up above
is down below
sifting through the pollen
on the plump thighs
of sleeping bees
while singing
to itself

It's Self.

or

It's Dream.