4/5 stars.

Dreary. Literally. The words “drear” or “dreary” appear a whopping 76 times in this collection. It wasn't that I was tediously counting them all by hand, but it was so noticeable that it piqued my curiosity and made me think to use the search feature out of idle interest. A full 76 times!

However, the author does manage to suit the mood that she sets, and I have to admit that I like her strong use of rhyme and meter. But did reading her unpublished and posthumously revealed poetry really add much beyond her already published works? Well, not really. Most of my favorite highlights were definitely from the published pieces. That being said, there were still some hidden gems among the repetitive and incomplete pieces in the unpublished pile.

Favorite lines…

Do I not see thee now? Thy black resplendent hair;
The glory-beaming brow; and smile how heavenly fair!
Thine eyes are turned away those eyes I would not see;
Their dark, their deadly ray would more than madden me.

…Oh! could that heart give back, give back again to thine,
One tenth part of the pain that clouds my dark decline.

Oh! could I see thy lids weighed down in cheerless woe;
Too full to hide their tears, too stern to overflow;
Oh! could I know thy soul with equal grief was torn,
This fate might be endured, this anguish might be borne.

Faith and despondency are beautifully captured in the words, “Through wind and ocean’s roar.” and “And murmur that your friends must die.” The stars are described as glorious companions, while the sun is seen as a threatening enemy. Remembrance is a poem worth reading frequently, with lines like “Cold in the earth.. Have I forgot.. to love thee…?” Song, also known as “My Lady’s Grave” or “The linnet in the rocky dells,” and Anticipation, with the wonderful line “How beautiful the earth is still..,” are both great works. The Prisoner is divine, with the words “In the dungeon crypts … overruled by heaven.” To Imagination is clever and truly imaginative, starting with “When weary with the long day's care..” Death! That struck… has a Shakespearean intensity, and the closing stanza uses Mary Shelley’s blasted tree metaphor. Honour's Martyr is a gorgeous poem, and the lines about the moon and stars on a winter night are very vivid. The stanzas are tender words of sweetness and affection for the dying and departed. The Old Stoic has the powerful lines “Riches I hold in light esteem… In life and death a chainless soul.” The collection concludes with a truly gorgeous poem that expresses a return to one's first feelings and a rejection of the busy chase of wealth and learning.

Overall, this is a wonderful collection of poems that explore a range of emotions and themes with great beauty and depth.

I truly love EJB. It has become an essential part of my programming toolkit. EJB offers a powerful and flexible framework for developing enterprise-level applications. With its modular and component-based architecture, it allows for easy code reuse and maintainability. The container-managed services provided by EJB, such as transaction management and security, simplify the development process and ensure the reliability and security of the application. I have witnessed the significant benefits that EJB brings to large-scale projects, enabling efficient development and deployment. The rich set of features and the extensive community support make EJB a great choice for building robust and scalable enterprise applications. I look forward to exploring more of its capabilities and continuing to use it in my future projects.

I recently came across some really cool stuff. There were some interesting features and aspects that caught my attention. However, when it comes to farming and modernity, I felt that there was just not enough. I was hoping to see more advanced farming techniques and a greater sense of modernization. It seems like there is still some room for improvement in these areas. I think if they could incorporate more farming elements and bring in a more modern touch, it would make the overall experience even better. Maybe they could explore new ways of farming that are more efficient and sustainable. Additionally, adding some modern amenities and technologies would enhance the appeal. Overall, while there were some cool things, I believe that more focus on farming and modernity would take it to the next level.

The words seem to pour out like a river of sorrow, each line carrying a weight of emotion that is almost palpable. "No sigh for me, no sympathy, no desire to keep my soul down here: the heart has been dead since childhood, not sorry to let the body go." It's as if the speaker has given up on life, on love, on everything.

"I know I have done wrong, I have done wrong to you and to heaven, and I can already cry all my life, for I will never be forgiven. Tears of repentance will fall in vain to cover the dishonorable actions." The guilt is eating away at them, and they see no hope of redemption.

"Sometimes I seem to see you rise: again a glorious girl. All the virtues that men have once honored shine from your eyes. Courage and Truth, a generous chest where Love and Joy were: a being whose memory blessed and made the sufferer content." Here, there is a glimmer of hope, a vision of a better time, but it is quickly overshadowed by the darkness that surrounds them.

"Why does the pilot, too confident, dream of the foam of that ocean? Why does he trust in the careless guide of pleasure to bring his ship to port?" The questions linger in the air, unanswered, as if the speaker is lost in a sea of confusion and doubt.

The innocent blood that stains my hands will drive me away from heaven and I can find no refuge here or in foreign lands. "And in all space and in all time and through eternity, to help a lost spirit in crime." The burden of their actions is too great to bear, and they feel as if they are doomed to an eternity of suffering.

"We must endure to see Ambition reign over Love with its iron laws." The world is a cruel place, and the forces of evil seem to be winning. But still, the speaker persists, determined to face whatever comes their way.

"Next October, the roar of the cannon from the hostile ranks may be pressing us: me, to fight for the blood of your life, and you, to fight for mine." The battle lines are drawn, and there is no turning back. It's a fight to the death, and only one side can emerge victorious.

"Glorious is the price of duty, although its power is serious. All the lures of beauty are traitors, let thorns sprout and poisonous flowers bloom." The speaker is willing to pay the price for doing what is right, even if it means sacrificing their own happiness.

"Love, a damned meteor that drags the careless to the abysses of crime." Love is a dangerous thing, capable of leading people astray and causing them to commit the most heinous acts.

"Rosina, this would not have happened if it were not for you, my despotic queen." The blame is placed on someone else, but deep down, the speaker knows that they are also responsible for their actions.

"Only misery rules our world. On its face shines the light of the sun and in its hair blows the wind of the south and the violet and the sanamunda breathe beside it sweetly. Nothing would suggest discouragement if it could force its mind to stop delving deeper and deeper, day after day, into the desert of despair." The world is a bleak and desolate place, but there is still a glimmer of beauty and hope, if only one can find it.

"But can I take the cold corpse out of its funeral shroud and make a ray of hope fall with my consoling tear? Oh, Death, many spirits driven through this false world, gave everything to win the eternal port to such a divine sick man…" The speaker is confronted with the reality of death, and they wonder if there is any way to bring back the dead or find some measure of peace in the afterlife.

"The consciousness of death is a burdensome weight, it is a torture worse than you yourself. Many storms have bowed his head, grant him at last a quiet bed beside his prematurely departed dead, just where he longs to be." The fear of death is overwhelming, and the speaker wishes for a peaceful end to their suffering.

"Sterile is your beauty like the weeds on the rock." Beauty is fleeting and often meaningless, especially in the face of the harsh realities of life.

"Let the memory die, forget because your friends have forgotten you." The past is a painful place, and the speaker is trying to move on, to forget the people and events that have caused them so much pain.

Alas, I thought they were crying as many tears as I do, and it is not so: their young and carefree eyes are closed and they sleep, their faces are not shadowed, not darkened by sorrow. The speaker realizes that they are alone in their grief, and that the world goes on without them.

"My lord speaks in a low voice, his appearance is kind and attentive, but as hard as the hardest flint is the soul that he carries inside." Appearances can be deceiving, and the true nature of a person is often hidden beneath a veneer of charm and kindness.

"And, dressed in the flames of hell or shining with the splendor of heaven, being the herald of death, the vision is divine!" The speaker is confronted with a vision of the afterlife, and they are both awed and terrified by what they see.

"The dungeons are full of enemies with whom to satisfy our hatred." The world is a place of conflict and violence, and the speaker is consumed by a desire for revenge.

"So surely anchored in the unyielding rock of Immortality." The speaker clings to the hope of immortality, of a life beyond this one, where they can find peace and redemption.

"Why do we have to know the date, the weather? They can only be words." The details of life seem unimportant in the face of the larger questions of love, death, and meaning.

"Men prostrated themselves before God and adored crime, and crushed the defenseless, just like us…" The world is a corrupt and sinful place, and the speaker is part of the problem, not the solution.

"It is useless to seek the pity of a brother. At first, my chivalry was hurt to join them in that cruelty, but I hardened myself: I learned to present a face of iron in front of the prayer of terror, I learned to turn a deaf ear to the moans of torture, just as well as they did." The speaker has become desensitized to the suffering of others, and they have lost their sense of compassion and humanity.

"Let hell take your worthless soul." The speaker has given up on themselves, and they see no hope of salvation.

"It is my conscience that pursues me." The speaker is haunted by their past actions, and they can find no escape from the guilt and remorse that consume them.

"Now I remember that look and groan and twist my hands in vain anguish. Then I was an adamantine stone, not even feeling a touch of tenderness…" The speaker realizes that they have become a cold and heartless person, and they long to找回 their lost humanity.

"Why do we have to know the date, the weather? There our own humanity lived: worshippers of power since the beginning of time, kissers of the feet of the victorious crime, crushers of the defenseless misery crushing Justice and adoring Injustice, for if the former is weak, the latter is strong." The speaker reflects on the state of the world, and they see a society that is dominated by power, greed, and corruption.

"Our wheat was harvested months ago, threshed and kneaded with blood, ground, when the ears were white as milk, with furious work of hooves and feet." The speaker uses the image of wheat to symbolize the sacrifices that have been made, the blood that has been shed, and the hard work that has gone into creating something that is ultimately destroyed.

I truly have a deep affection for this book. It holds a special place in my heart and is of utmost importance when it comes to achieving a better understanding of Wuthering Heights. The story within its pages is like a captivating journey that takes the reader into a world full of passion, drama, and complex emotions. Each character is vividly portrayed, and their actions and interactions add depth and richness to the narrative. By reading this book, one can gain valuable insights into the themes, motifs, and literary techniques employed by the author. It helps to揭开 the mysteries and secrets that lie within the story, making it a truly rewarding experience. Whether you are a die-hard fan of Wuthering Heights or someone who is just beginning to explore this classic work of literature, this book is an absolute must-read.

I really like Emily's writing style and most of her poems seem extremely beautiful to me. However, I think it becomes a bit repetitive at times.

Moreover, I had a bit of a hard time with the poems that were more than 10 pages long.

Ballad Mad

I was deeply moved by the recent BBC drama, which led me to resolve to explore the lesser-known works of the B sisters. In the case of Emily, this specifically meant delving into her poems. After painstakingly going through the no doubt interesting textual introduction, I immediately fell head over heels in love with the poetry itself and with the Emily that it revealed. Her poems are typically in balladic or common metre, harking back not only to old English folk songs and ballads but also to those of a more lyrical nature. Moreover, they work out many of the themes and images that found such perfect expression in "Wuthering Heights". This includes the Cathy figure and the whole concept of the soul in a fleshy prison finding release in death. She and Anne had developed a kind of epic ballad that provides context for many of the poems and also offers an arms-length environment in which to explore and express feelings about death, courage, freedom, and other absolutes. While some verses offer a more personal take on love, death, and life beyond earth's seeming duality. It's about sukha and dukha and the razor's edge between them, or perhaps more about the path of detachment. Emily had undoubtedly endured her share of sadness and loss, but her innate spirituality shines through even in what might otherwise seem like depressing times, speaking of eternal values and joy.

One of my favorites is this beautiful poem.

No coward soul of mine,

No trembler in the world's storm-troubled sphere;

I see Heaven glories shine,

And Faith shines equal, arming me from Fear.

It expresses a sense of courage and confidence in the face of life's challenges.

O God within my breast,

Almighty ever-present Deity;

Life, that in me has rest,

As I -- Undying Life -- have power in Thee.

The poet's connection with the divine is palpable, giving a sense of strength and purpose.

Vain are the thousand creeds,

That move men's hearts -- unutterably vain,

Worthless as withered weeds,

Or idlest froth amid the boundless main --

Here, the poet questions the value of many of the beliefs that people hold dear.

To waken doubt in one,

Holding so fast by thy infinity,

So surely anchored on,

The steadfast rock of Immortality.

Despite the doubts, there is still a firm belief in something greater and eternal.

With wide--embracing love,

Thy spirit animates eternal years;

Pervades and broods above,

Changes, sustains, dissolves, creates and rears;

The power of love and the creative force of the divine are described in a beautiful and profound way.

Though Earth and moon were gone,

And suns and universes ceased to be,

And thou were left alone,

Every Existence would exist in thee.

This shows the ultimate sovereignty and omnipresence of the divine.

There is not room for Death,

Nor atom that his might could render void,

Since thou are Being and Breath,

And what thou art may never be destroyed.

The poem ends with a powerful statement of the immortality and indestructibility of the divine.

I truly relished reading The Complete Poems.

I have a dear friend who is extremely passionate about poetry, and she has a particular love for Emily Brontë. Therefore, I was well aware that I had to read this collection at some point.

It took me a bit longer than I had anticipated, mainly because I was also reading another book simultaneously. However, I made a conscious effort to wake up early every morning. This gave me the precious time to myself, where I could put on some soothing music and immerse myself in the world of poetry. It was truly a wonderful experience.

I was rather surprised by the number of poems Brontë wrote about imprisonment, as well as war and death. Perhaps these were themes that she could relate to on a deeper level, even without having actually been a prisoner.

There were a few rhymes that didn't quite match perfectly, but I understand that writing rhyming poetry is no easy feat. Besides, it didn't really bother me much, so I simply overlooked it.

There were quite a number of poems in the collection that I marked as my favorites. It was a really lovely collection, and I'm extremely glad that I took the time to read it.

Cold in the earth—and the deep snow piled above thee,

Far, far removed, cold in the dreary grave!

Have I forgot, my only Love, to love thee,

Severed at last by Time's all-severing wave?

Now, when alone, do my thoughts no longer hover

Over the mountains, on that northern shore,

Resting their wings where heath and fern leaves cover

Thy noble heart forever, ever more?

Cold in the earth—and fifteen wild Decembers,

From those brown hills, have melted into spring;

Faithful, indeed, is the spirit that remembers

After such years of change and suffering!

Sweet Love of youth, forgive, if I forget thee,

While the world's tide is bearing me along;

Other desires and other hopes beset me,

Hopes which obscure, but cannot do thee wrong!

No later light has lightened up my heaven,

No second morn has ever shone for me;

All my life's bliss from thy dear life was given,

All my life's bliss is in the grave with thee.

But, when the days of golden dreams had perished,

And even Despair was powerless to destroy,

Then did I learn how existence could be cherished,

Strengthened, and fed without the aid of joy.

Then did I check the tears of useless passion—

Weaned my young soul from yearning after thine;

Sternly denied its burning wish to hasten

Down to that tomb already more than mine.

And, even yet, I dare not let it languish,

Dare not indulge in memory's rapturous pain;

Once drinking deep of that divinest anguish,

How could I seek the empty world again?

The speaker laments the loss of their beloved, who lies cold in the earth beneath the deep snow. They question if they have forgotten their love, despite the passage of time. The thought of the beloved still lingers, even after fifteen Decembers have passed and the seasons have changed. The speaker asks for forgiveness if they have been distracted by other desires and hopes in the world. They admit that all their life's bliss was given by the beloved and is now buried with them. However, after the golden dreams have perished and despair has failed to destroy them, they have learned to cherish existence without the aid of joy. They have checked their tears and weaned their soul from yearning, but still dare not fully indulge in the pain of memory, for fear of never being able to return to the empty world.

'Guardian angel, he lacks no longer;
Evil fortune he need not fear:
Fate is strong but Love is stronger
And more unsleeping than angel's care'

I had no clear idea of what to anticipate from this collection of poetry. Having read 'Wuthering Heights', which elicited mixed emotions in me, I was curious about the nature of Emily Brontë's poetry. The answer is that it is mostly fine work. It both aligns with and diverges from what I expected from the author of 'Wuthering Heights'.

A Gothic gloom pervades many of these poems. Death looms large in them, as does love. Many seem to revolve around people imprisoned in dungeons, reflecting on their fate and loss. This is because a significant portion of them are part of the 'Gondal' poems.

'Gondal' was a world or place created by the Brontë sisters. In a contemporary context, it would have been the setting for their Dungeons and Dragons campaign if such a thing had existed. In fact, I recall reading in Harry Pearson's 'Achtung Schweinhund!' that they engaged in battles in Gondal with toy soldiers. So, they weren't far off. These Gondal poems constitute a substantial part of the contents of this collection.

But thou art now on a desolate sea -
Parted from Gondal and parted from me -
All my repining is hopeless and vain,
Death never yields back his victims again-

I had a great affinity for the Gondal poems. They appeal to my instinct for fantasy. One wonders if Emily Brontë might have delved into writing something related to fantasy had she lived longer. She passed away 30 years before Lord Dunsany was born, but one gets the impression that she would have adored fantasy. However, it wouldn't be the cozy kind but perhaps the grim and dark variety. Gondal lacks fantasy races; it seems to be predominantly populated by humans, although there is mention of angels and god.

There are numerous poems about graves and deaths. Emily Brontë was a Goth before the term even existed or when it meant something different. I find myself loving the Emily Brontë of these poems more than the one of 'Wuthering Heights', even though they are the same person. The connections between the two are evident, even if not explicitly stated.

I wholeheartedly recommend these poems. I initially borrowed this from the library, but I will purchase a copy to keep at some point. It is edited and introduced by Janet Gezari, who has bravely attempted to arrange the poems in chronological order of composition. The introduction and notes are excellent. This is one of those Penguin Classics that feels indispensable.

What use is it to slumber here:
Though the heart be sad and weary?
What use is it to slumber here
Though the day rise dark and dreary

For that mist may break when the sun is high
And this soul forget its sorrow
And the rosy ray of the closing day
May promise a brighter morrow