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.
Credit

This poem is in the public domain.