The Bronte Sisters

“What is she writing? Watch her now,How fast her fingers move!How eagerly her youthful browIs bent in thought above!Her long curls, drooping, shade the light,She puts them quick aside.”

“When words, half love, all tenderness,Were hourly heard, as hourly spoken,When the long, sunny days of blissOnly by moonlight nights were broken.”

“You ask if she had beauty's grace? I know not - but a nobler faceMy eyes have seldom seen;A keen and fine intelligence,And, better still, the truest senseWere in her sparkling mien.”

“How strange this mass of ancient treasuresMementoes of past pains and pleasures;These volumes, clasped with costly stone,With print all faded, gilding gone”