On The Death of Anne Bronte
by Emily Bronte
. .Of one I would have died to save
Calmly to watch the failing breath,
. .Wishing each sigh might be the last;
Longing to see the shade of death
. .O’er those belovèd features cast.
. .To thank Him well and fervently;
Although I knew that we had lost
. .The hope and glory of our life;
And now, benighted, tempest-tossed,
. .Must bear alone the weary strife.
To My Sister
by William Wordsworth
One moment now may give us more
Than years of toiling reason:
Our minds shall drink at every pore
The spirit of the season.
Some silent laws our hearts will make,
Which they shall long obey:
We for the year to come may take
Our temper from to-day.
And from the blessed power that rolls
About, below, above,
We’ll frame the measure of our souls:
They shall be tuned to love.
Then come, my Sister! come, I pray,
With speed put on your woodland dress;
And bring no book: for this one day
We’ll give to idleness.