Hope was but a timid friend; <br />She sat without the grated den, <br />Watching how my fate would tend, <br />Even as selfish-hearted men. <br /> <br />She was cruel in her fear; <br />Through the bars, one dreary day, <br />I looked out to see her there, <br />And she turned her face away! <br /> <br />Like a false guard, false watch keeping, <br />Still, in strife, she whispered peace; <br />She would sing while I was weeping; <br />If I listened, she would cease. <br /> <br />False she was, and unrelenting; <br />When my last joys strewed the ground, <br />Even Sorrow saw, repenting, <br />Those sad relics scattered round; <br /> <br />Hope, whose whisper would have given <br />Balm to all my frenzied pain, <br />Stretched her wings, and soared to heaven, <br />Went, and ne'er returned again!<br /><br />Emily Jane Brontë<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/hope/
