Oh, for the time when I shall sleep
Without identity,
And never care how rain may steep,
Or snow may cover me!
No promised heaven these wild desires
Could all, or half, fulful;
No threatened hell, with quenchless fires,
Subdue this quenchless will!
 
So said I, and still say the same;
Still, to my death, will say—
Three gods within this little frame
Are warring night and day:
Heaven could not hold them all, and yet
They all are held in me;
And must be mine till I forget
My present entity!
 
Oh, for the time when in my breast
Their struggles will be o’er!
Oh, for the day when I shall rest,
And never suffer more!

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Mercedes Dembo
about 3 years

A poem about life, death and hope, based on personal experience, away from the romanticism of her time, but also part of the personal mythology of the Bronte, who created a number of imaginary worlds known as Gondal, Angria, Gaaldine, where the symbolic has an absolute presence. Emily is a poet of self-conscious expression, of an interior life focused on observation, imagination and introspection. Death for her was integral with a great sense of sympathy for the other creatures. For me Emily in this poem as in others, transmit beauty and a sense of charm because they bring aesthetic joy but also echo the liberty, independence she prizes so much. Something very interesting I read:
John Greenwood, a neighbor and long-time resident, recorded an encounter with Emily returning from the moors:
"Her countenance was lit up with a divine light. Had she been holding converse with Angels, it would not have shone brighter. It appeared to me holy, heavenly", a mystical sensibility?

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