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A Poem by Anne Bronte: The Captive’s Dream

 

The Captive’s Dream

Methought I saw him but I knew him not;
He was so changed from what he used to be,
There was no redness on his woe­worn cheek,
No sunny smile upon his ashy lips,
His hollow wandering eyes looked wild and fierce,
And grief was printed on his marble brow,
And O I thought he clasped his wasted hands,
And raised his haggard eyes to Heaven, and prayed
That he might die ­­ I had no power to speak,
I thought I was allowed to see him thus;
And yet I might not speak one single word;
I might not even tell him that I lived
And that it might be possible if search were made,
To find out where I was and set me free,
O how I longed to clasp him to my heart,
Or but to hold his trembling hand in mine,
And speak one word of comfort to his mind,
I struggled wildly but it was in vain,
I could not rise from my dark dungeon floor,
And the dear name I vainly strove to speak,
Died in a voiceless whisper on my tongue,
Then I awoke, and lo it was a dream!
A dream? Alas it was reality!
For well I know wherever he may be
He mourns me thus ­­ O heaven I could bear
My deadly fate with calmness if there were
No kindred hearts to bleed and break for me!

Alexandrina Zenobia

 

Anne Bronte

Anne Bronte-2

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