Emily Bronte wrote her poem "O God of Heaven! The dream of horror".

On 07/08/1837 Emily Bronte

wrote the poem

O God of heaven! The dream of horror

The frightful dream is over now

The sickened heart, the blasting sorrow

The ghastly night, the ghastlier morrow

The aching sense of utter woe

The burning tears that would keep welling

The groan that mocked at every tear

That burst from our dreary dwelling

As if each gasp were life expelling

But life was nourished by despair

The tossing and the anguished pining

The grinding teeth and starting eye

The agony of still repining

when not a spark of hope was shining

From gloomy fate's reletless sky

The impatient rage, the useless shrinking

From thoughts that yet could not be borne

The soul that was for ever thinking

Till nature maddened, tortured, sinking

At last refused to mourn

It's over now--and I am free

And the ocean wind is caressing me

The wild wind from the wavy main

I never thought to see again

Bless thee, bright Sea, and glorious dome
And my own world, my spirit's home

Bless thee, bless all--I cannot speak

My voice is choked, but not with grief

And salt drops from my haggard cheek

Descend like rain upon the heath

How long they've wet a dungeon floor

Falling on flagstones damp and grey

I used to weep even in my sleep

The night was dreadful like the day

I used to weep when winter's snow

Whirled through the grating stormily

But then it was a calmer woe

For everything was drear to me

The bitterest time, the worst of all

Was that in which the summer sheen

Cast a green lustre on the wall

That told of fields of lovelier green

often I've sat down on the ground

Gazing up to the flush scarce seen

Till, heedless of the darkness round

My soul has sought a land serene

It sought the arch of heaven divine

The pure blue heaven with clouds of gold

It sought thy father's home and mine

As I remembered it of old

Oh, even now too horribly

Come back the feelings that would swell

When with my face hid on my knee

I strove the bursting groans to quell

I flung myself upon the stone

I howled, and tore my tangled hair

And then, when the first gust had flown

Lay in unspeakable despair

Sometimes a curse, sometimes a prayer

Would quiver on my parched tongue

But both without a murmur there

Died in the breast from whence they sprung

And so the day would fade on high

And darkness quench that lonely beam

And slumber mould my misery

Into some strange and spectral dream

Whose phantom horrors made me know

The worst extent of human woe

But this is past, and why return

O'er such a path to brood and mourn?

Shake off the fetters, break the chain
And live and love and smile again

The waste of youth, the waste of years

Departed in that dungeon thrall

The gnawing grief, the hopeless tears

Forget them--oh, forget them all!

I received a beautiful reaction on this poem. I like this very much. it is interesting because it places the poem in a period of Emily's live, so it makes it beter to understand.

""This is such a powerful poem...at first I thought Emily wrote it after Branwell's death but then I realized the dates didn't match up. It must somehow be attached to her time at Law Hill School, where she was so miserable. It's very moving...""

Please, if other readers want to give a reaction, please do so.....