On the Death of Anne Brontë

There's little joy in life for me,

And little terror in the grave;

I've lived the parting hour to see

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.

The cloud, the stillness that must part

The darling of my life from me;

And then to thank God from my heart,

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.