Explore "Anticipation. Ellis Bell" by Charlotte Brontë on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
How beautiful the earth is still, / To thee -- how full of happiness? / How little fraught with real ill, / Or unreal phantoms of distress! / How spring can bring thee glory, yet, / And summer win thee to forget / December's sullen time! / Why dost thou hold the treasure fast, / Of youth's delight, when youth is past, / And thou art near thy prime?
When those who were thy own compeers, / Equals in fortune and in years, / Have seen their morning melt in tears, / To clouded, smileless day; / Blest, had they died untried and young, / Before their hearts went wandering wrong, -- / Poor slaves, subdued by passions strong, / A weak and helpless prey!