by Emily Brontë (1818 - 1848)
How few of all the hearts that loved
Language: English
How few of all the hearts [that loved]1 Are grieving for thee now and why should mine tonight be moved With such a sense of woe Too often thus when left alone Where none my thoughts can see Comes back a word a passing tone From thy strange history Sometimes I seem to see thee rise A glorious child again [...]2 O fairly spread thy earthly sail And fresh and pure and free Was the first impulse of the gale That urged life's wave for thee Why did the pilot too confiding Dream o'er that oceans foam And trust in pleasures careless guiding to bring his vessel home? For well he knew what dangers frowned What mists would gather dim What rocks and shelves and sands lay round Between his port and him The very brightness of the sun The splendour of the main The wind that bore him wildly on Should not have warned in vain An anxious gazer from the shore I marked the whitening wave And wept the more Because I could not save It reeks not now when all is over And yet my heart will be A mourner still though friend and lover Have both forgotten thee
About the headline (FAQ)
View original text (without footnotes)Note: in the Fisk work, this is sung by Nelly
1 omitted by Fisk
2 lines 11-16 omitted by Fisk
Authorship:
- by Emily Brontë (1818 - 1848) [author's text not yet checked 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 , "How few of all the hearts that loved are grieving
", published 2002 [voice, piano], from Wuthering Heights, no. 31. [text verified 1 time]
Researcher for this page: Terry Fisk
This text was added to the website: 2004-03-22
Line count: 35
Word count: 202