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''F. De Samara to A. G. A.'' is a poem by British author and poet Emily Jane Brontë, written on November 1, 1838. The poem below has been reproduced from a copy used in the 'Penguin Classics Collection'. =='F. De Samara to A. G. A.'== :Light up thy halls! ‘Tis closing day; :I’m drear and lone and far away – :Rest your head on my bosom. :Cold blows on my breast, the north wind’s bitter sigh :And oh, my couch is bleak beneath the rainy sky! :Light up thy halls – and think not of me; :That face is absent now, thou hast hated me so to see – :Bright be thine eyes, undimmed their dazzling shine, :For never, never more shall they encounter mine! :The desert moor is dark; there is tempest in the air; :I have breathed my only wish in one last, one burning prayer – :A prayer that would come forth although it lingered long; :That set on fire my heart, but froze upon my tongue – :And now, it shall be done before the morning rise; :I will not watch the sun ascend in yonder skies. :One task alone remains – thy pictured face to view :And then I go to prove if God, at least, be true! :Do I not see thee now? Thy black resplendent hair; :Thy glory-beaming brow, and smile how heavenly fair! :Thine eyes are turned away – those eyes I would not see, :Their dark, their deadly ray would more than madden me :There, go, Deceiver, go! My hand is streaming wet, :My hearts blood flows to buy the blessing – To forget! :Oh could that lost heart give back, back again to thine :One tenth part of the pain that clouds my dark decline! :Oh could I see thy lids weighed down in cheerless woe; :Too full to hide their tears, too stern to overflow; :Oh could I know thy soul with equal grief was torn :This fate might be endured – this anguish might be borne! :How gloomy grows the Night! ‘Tis Gondal’s wind that :blows :I shall not tread again the deep glens where it rose – :I feel it on my face – Where, wild blast, dost thou roam? :What do we, wanderer, here, so far away from home? :I do not need thy breath to cool my death-cold brow :But go to that far land, where she is shining now; :Tell Her my latest wish, tell Her my dreary doom; :Say, that my pangs are past, but Hers are yet to come – :Vain words – vain, frenzied thoughts! No ear can hear me call – :Lost in the vacant air my frantic curses fall :And could she see me now, perchance her lip would smile :Would smile in careless pride and utter scorn the while! :And yet, for all her hate, each parting glance would tell :A stronger passion breathed, burned in this last farewell – :Unconquered in my soul the Tyrant rules me still – :Life bows to my control, but, Love I cannot kill! 抄文引用元・出典: フリー百科事典『 ウィキペディア（Wikipedia）』 ■ウィキペディアで「F. De Samara to A. G. A.」の詳細全文を読む スポンサード リンク
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