Poems by Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell

Well hast thou spoken, and yet not taught
     A feeling strange or new;
     Thou hast but roused a latent thought,
     A cloud-closed beam of sunshine brought
     To gleam in open view.

     Deep down, concealed within my soul,
     That light lies hid from men;
     Yet glows unquenched—though shadows roll,
     Its gentle ray cannot control—
     About the sullen den.

     Was I not vexed, in these gloomy ways
     To walk alone so long?
     Around me, wretches uttering praise,
     Or howling o'er their hopeless days,
     And each with Frenzy's tongue;—

     A brotherhood of misery,
     Their smiles as sad as sighs;
     Whose madness daily maddened me,
     Distorting into agony
     The bliss before my eyes!

     So stood I, in Heaven's glorious sun,
     And in the glare of Hell;
     My spirit drank a mingled tone,
     Of seraph's song, and demon's moan;
     What my soul bore, my soul alone
     Within itself may tell!

     Like a soft, air above a sea,
     Tossed by the tempest's stir;
     A thaw-wind, melting quietly
     The snow-drift on some wintry lea;
     No:  what sweet thing resembles thee,
     My thoughtful Comforter?

     And yet a little longer speak,
     Calm this resentful mood;
     And while the savage heart grows meek,
     For other token do not seek,
     But let the tear upon my cheek
     Evince my gratitude!