Tag Archives: Emily Bronte

Wuthering Heights Illustrations: He Is More Myself Than I Am…

6 Oct

This is the perfect time of the year to reread your favourite Victorian novels, and Emily Bronte’s “Wuthering Heights” is definitely one of my favourites. Here are the illustrations for the novel by a contemporary Australian artist Rovina Cai. They really fit the mood of the book and linger in the memory, especially the first and the second illustrations here below; they are so dreamy, just look at the subtle shadowy ghost of Cathy above Heatcliff, and Cathy standing by the water and the reflection in the water is of Heatcliff because “she is Heatcliff”, their souls are the same.

“He’s more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.”

“I’m tired, tired of being enclosed here. I’m wearying to escape into that glorious world, and to be always there; not seeing it dimly through tears, and yearning for it through the walls of an aching heart; but really with it, and in it.”

“I have not broken your heart – you have broken it; and in breaking it, you have broken mine.

You said I killed you – haunt me then. Be with me always – take any form – drive me mad. Only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you! I cannot live without my soul!

Emily Bronte: I shall have time for mourning and THOU for being alone!

26 Aug

This poem by Emily Bronte called “The Night-Wind” perfectly fits this transitional phase in nature, the mood of these late summer days when rains start singing mournfully and leaves start falling here and there, whispering of summers slow dying. Intense feelings arise in my soul this time of the year, and my thoughts wander to Gothic fantasies of lonely moors, dark woods, Gothic castles, Pre-Raphaelites and Bronte sisters. The poem brings wonderful poetic images which make the heart sigh with delight “In summer’s mellow midnight” and “rose-trees wet with dew”, and the ending has an intriguing macabre mood.

In summer’s mellow midnight,
A cloudless moon shone through
Our open parlour window,
And rose-trees wet with dew.

I sat in silent musing;
The soft wind waved my hair;
It told me heaven was glorious,
And sleeping earth was fair.

I needed not its breathing
To bring such thoughts to me;
But still it whispered lowly,
How dark the woods will be!

“The thick leaves in my murmur
Are rustling like a dream,
And all their myriad voices
Instinct with spirit seem.”

Jean Charles Cazin (French, 1841–1901), Solitude, 1889

I said, “Go, gentle singer,
Thy wooing voice is kind:
But do not think its music
Has power to reach my mind.

“Play with the scented flower,
The young tree’s supple bough,
And leave my human feelings
In their own course to flow.”

The wanderer would not heed me;
Its kiss grew warmer still.
“O come!” it sighed so sweetly;
“I’ll win thee ‘gainst thy will.

“Were we not friends from childhood?
Have I not loved thee long?
As long as thou, the solemn night,
Whose silence wakes my song.

“And when thy heart is resting
Beneath the church-aisle stone,
I shall have time for mourning,
And THOU for being alone.”

Fall, Leaves, Fall – Emily Bronte’s Verses on Autumn…

16 Oct

I love this poem by Emily Bronte and since it is Autumn, oh finally, the beautiful season of rains, mists, falling leaves and rich colours, I thought I’d share it with you, my lovely readers, accompanied by an equally beautiful painting ‘Autumn Leaves’ by the Pre-Raphaelite painter John Everett Millais.

1856-autumn-leaves-john-everett-millais

John Everett Millais, Autumn Leaves, 1856

Fall, leaves, fall – Emily Bronte

Fall, leaves, fall; die, flowers, away;
Lengthen night and shorten day;
Every leaf speaks bliss to me
Fluttering from the autumn tree.
I shall smile when wreaths of snow
Blossom where the rose should grow;
I shall sing when night’s decay
Ushers in a drearier day.
***