Hope was but a timid friend; She sat without the grated den, Watching how my fate would tend, Even as selfish-hearted men. She was cruel in her fear; Through the bars one weary day, I looked out to see her there, And she turned her face away! Like a false guard, false watch keeping, Still in strife, she whispered peace; She would sing while I was weeping, If I listened, she would cease. False she was, and unrelenting; When my last joys strewed the ground, Even Sorrow saw, repenting, Those sad relics scattered round; Hope, whose whisper would have given Balm to all my frenzied pain, Stretched her wings, and soared to heaven, Went, and ne'er returned again!
- 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 John Mitchell (b. 1941), "Hope", op. 71 (Seven Journeys to Earth), Heft 1 no. 2, published 1989. [text verified 1 time]
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]
This text was added to the website: 2007-12-06
Line count: 20
Word count: 118