- Year Published: 1846
- Language: English
- Country of Origin: England
- Source: Bronte, A., Bronte, C., and Bronte, E. (1846). Poems by Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell. London, England: Aylott and Jones.
- Flesch–Kincaid Level: 8.0
- Word Count: 368
Brontë, E. (1846). The Two Children. Poems of Emily Brontë (Lit2Go Edition). Retrieved October 15, 2018, from
Brontë, Emily. "The Two Children." Poems of Emily Brontë. Lit2Go Edition. 1846. Web. <>. October 15, 2018.
Emily Brontë, "The Two Children," Poems of Emily Brontë, Lit2Go Edition, (1846), accessed October 15, 2018,.
Heavy hangs the rain-drop
From the burdened spray;
Heavy broods the damp mist
On uplands far away.
Heavy looms the dull sky,
Heavy rolls the sea;
And heavy throbs the young heart
Beneath that lonely tree.
Never has a blue streak
Cleft the clouds since morn;
Never has his grim fate
Smiled since he was born.
Frowning on the infant,
Shadowing childhood’s joy
Guardian-angel knows not
That melancholy boy.
Day is passing swiftly
Its sad and sombre prime;
Boyhood sad is merging
In sadder manhood’s time:
All the flowers are praying
For sun, before they close,
And he prays too—unconscious—
That sunless human rose.
Blossom—that the west-wind
Has never wooed to blow,
Scentless are thy petals,
Thy dew is cold as snow!
Soul—where kindred kindness,
No early promise woke,
Barren is thy beauty,
As weed upon a rock.
Wither—soul and blossom!
You both were vainly given;
Earth reserves no blessing
For the unblest of heaven!
Child of delight, with sun-bright hair,
And sea-blue, sea-deep eyes!
Spirit of bliss! What brings thee here
Beneath these sullen skies?
Thou shouldst live in eternal spring,
Where endless day is never dim;
Why, Seraph, has thine erring wing
Wafted thee down to weep with him?
“Ah! not from heaven am I descended,
Nor do I come to mingle tears;
But sweet is day, though with shadows blended;
And, though clouded, sweet are youthful years.
“I—the image of light and gladness—
Saw and pitied that mournful boy,
And I vowed—if need were—to share his sadness,
And give to him my sunny joy.
“Heavy and dark the night is closing;
Heavy and dark may its biding be:
Better for all from grief reposing,
And better for all who watch like me—
“Watch in love by a fevered pillow,
Cooling the fever with pity’s balm
Safe as the petrel on tossing billow,
Safe in mine own soul’s golden calm!
“Guardian-angel he lacks no longer;
Evil fortune he need not fear:
Fate is strong, but love is stronger;
And MY love is truer than angel-care.”