Well, some may hate and some may scorn, <br />And some may quite forget thy name, <br />But my sad heart must ever mourn <br />Thy ruined hopes, they blighted fame! <br />'Twas thus I thought, an hour ago, <br />Even weeping o'er that wretch's woe. <br />One word turned back my gushing tears, <br />And lit my altered eye with sneers. <br />Then "Bless the friendly dust," I said, <br />"That hides the unlamented head! <br />Vain as thou wert, and weak as vain, <br />The slave of Falsehood, Pride, and Pain, <br />My heart has nought akin to thine, <br />Thy soul is powerless over mine." <br /> <br />But these were thoughts that vanished too; <br />Unwise, unholy, and untrue: <br />Do I despise the timid deer <br />Because his limbs are fleet with fear? <br />Or, would I mock the wolf's death-howl <br />Because his form is gaunt and foul? <br />Or, hear with joy the leveret's cry <br />Because it cannot bravely die? <br />No! Then above his memory <br />Let pity's heart as tender be: <br />Say, "Earth lie lightly on that breast, <br />And, kind Heaven, grant that spirit rest.<br /><br />Emily Jane Brontë<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/stanzas-to/
