The Tenant of Wildfell Hall

For yonder garden, fair and wide,

   With groves of evergreen,

Long winding walks, and borders trim,

   And velvet lawns between—

Restore to me that little spot,

   With gray walls compassed round,

Where knotted grass neglected lies,

   And weeds usurp the ground.

Though all around this mansion high

   Invites the foot to roam,

And though its halls are fair within—

   Oh, give me back my Home!

Poem of  Anne Bronte

Read on Gutenberg

The Tenant of Wildfell Hall

Weblogs and the Brontes: The Old School Room, Top Withens and the moors

The Old School Room at Haworth, which was built by the Rev Patrick Bronte, father of the sisters

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Bronte_Country

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But lovelier than corn-fields all waving
In emerald, and vermeil, and gold,
Are the heights where the north-wind is raving,
And the crags where I wandered of old.

by Emily Bronte

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Bronte Country, 

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A windswept land of heather and wild moors, it is hardly surprising that this region became the inspiration for the classic works of the Bronte sisters, Charlotte, Emily and Anne. Geographically, Bronte Country consists of the Pennine hills of West Yorkshire, as well as Kirklees and Calderdale. Unlike the postural limestone valleys of the Yorkshire Dales which begin further to the north, the geology in Bronte Country is predominantly of Millstone Grit, a dark sandstone which lends the crags and scenery here an air of bleakness and desolation. Small wonder then, that this landscape fuelled the imagination of the Bronte sisters in writing their classic novels – including ‘Wuthering Heights’ (which was reputedly inspired by the isolated moorland farmstead of Top Withens) and ‘Jane Eyre’. www.bronte-country.com

Poem Emily Bronte

Alone I sat; the summer day
Had died in smiling light away;
I saw it die, I watched it fade
From the misty hill and breezeless glade.

And thoughts in my soul were rushing,
And my heart bowed beneath their power;
And tears within my eyes were gushing
Because I could not speak the feeling,
The solemn joy around me stealing,
In that divine, untroubled hour.

I asked myself, O why has Heaven
Denied the precious gift to me,
The glorious gift to many given,
To speak their thoughts in poetry?

Dreams have encircled me, I said,
From careless childhood's sunny time;
Visions by ardent fancy fed
Since life was in its morning prime.

But now, when I had hoped to sing,
My fingers strike a tuneless string;
And still the burden of the strain—
I strive no more, 'tis all in vain.
· · · · ·
August 1837.

" This bringing out of our little book was hard work. As was to be expected neither we nor our poems were at all wanted ; but for this we had been prepared at the outset ; though inexperienced ourselves, we had read the experience of others. The great puzzle lay in the difficulty of getting answers of any kind from the publishers to whom we applied. Being greatly harassed by this obstacle, I ventured to apply to the Messrs. Chambers of Edinburgh for a word of advice : they may have forgotten the circumstance, but / have not ; for from them I received a brief and business-like but civil and sensible reply, on which we acted, and at last made a way." *

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