Poems of Emily Brontë
by Emily Brontë
- 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: 292
- Genre: Poetry
- Keywords: day, night
- ✎ Cite This
Brontë, E. (1846). Stars. Poems of Emily Brontë (Lit2Go Edition). Retrieved March 23, 2023, from https://etc.usf.edu/lit2go/75/poems-of-emily-bronte/5180/stars/
Brontë, Emily. "Stars." Poems of Emily Brontë. Lit2Go Edition. 1846. Web. <https://etc.usf.edu/lit2go/75/poems-of-emily-bronte/5180/stars/>. March 23, 2023.
Emily Brontë, "Stars," Poems of Emily Brontë, Lit2Go Edition, (1846), accessed March 23, 2023, https://etc.usf.edu/lit2go/75/poems-of-emily-bronte/5180/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?
Blood-red, he rose, and, arrow-straight,
His fierce beams struck my brow;
The soul of nature sprang, elate,
But mine sank sad and low!
My lids closed down, yet through their veil
I saw him, blazing, still,
And steep in gold the misty dale,
And flash upon the hill.
I turned me to the pillow, then,
To call back night, and see
Your worlds of solemn light, again,
Throb with my heart, and me!
It would not do—the pillow glowed,
And glowed both roof and floor;
And birds sang loudly in the wood,
And fresh winds shook the door;
The curtains waved, the wakened flies
Were murmuring round my room,
Imprisoned there, till I should rise,
And give them leave to roam.
Oh, stars, and dreams, and gentle night;
Oh, night and stars, return!
And hide me from the hostile light
That does not warm, but burn;
That drains the blood of suffering men;
Drinks tears, instead of dew;
Let me sleep through his blinding reign,
And only wake with you!