by Emil Brontë Still let my tyrants know, I am not doom’d to wear Year after year in gloom and desolate despair; A messenger of Hope comes every night to me, And offers for short life, eternal liberty. He comes with Western winds, with evening’s wandering airs, With that clear dusk of heaven that bringsContinue reading “The Prisoner”
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Of Old Sat Freedom On The Heights
Alfred Lord Tennyson (1809‐1892) Of old sat Freedom on the heights, The thunders breaking at her feet: Above her shook the starry lights: She heard the torrents meet. There in her place she did rejoice, Self-gather’d in her prophet-mind, But fragments of her mighty voice Came rolling on the wind. Then stept she down thro’Continue reading “Of Old Sat Freedom On The Heights”
Robin's Nest 