by Emily Brontë (1818 - 1848)
On a sunny brae alone I lay
Language: English
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.]1 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 grey rocks, looking on, Asked, "What do you here?"]1 And I could utter no reply [In sooth, I did not know]1 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 their strange minstrelsy The little glittering spirits sung Or seemed to sing to me [Dying memories] Oh 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 Let 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
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View original text (without footnotes)Note: in Fisk's work, this is sung by Catherine
1 omitted by Fisk
Authorship:
- by Emily Brontë (1818 - 1848) [author's text checked 1 time against a primary source]
Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive):
- by Terry Fisk , "On a sunny brae alone I lay", published 2002 [voice, piano], from Wuthering Heights, no. 13. [text verified 1 time]
Researcher for this page: Terry Fisk
This text was added to the website: 2004-03-22
Line count: 73
Word count: 405