Self-interogation. Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis


The evening passes fast awayA
'Tis almost time to restB
What thoughts has left the vanished dayA
What feelings in thy breastB
The vanished day It leaves a senseC
Of labour hardly doneD
Of little gained with vast expenseC
A sense of grief aloneE
Time stands before the door of DeathF
Upbraiding bitterlyG
And Conscience with exhaustless breathF
Pours black reproach on meG
And though I've said that Conscience liesH
And Time should Fate condemnI
Still sad Repentance clouds my eyesH
And makes me yield to themI
Then art thou glad to seek reposeJ
Art glad to leave the seaG
And anchor all thy weary woesJ
In calm EternityG
Nothing regrets to see thee goK
Not one voice sobs' farewell '-
And where thy heart has suffered soK
Canst thou desire to dwellL
Alas the countless links are strongM
That bind us to our clayA
The loving spirit lingers longM
And would not pass awayA
And rest is sweet when laurelled fameN
Will crown the soldier's crestB
But a brave heart with a tarnished nameN
Would rather fight than restB
Well thou hast fought for many a yearO
Hast fought thy whole life throughP
Hast humbled Falsehood trampled FearO
What is there left to doP
'Tis true this arm has hotly strivenD
Has dared what few would dareQ
Much have I done and freely givenD
But little learnt to bearQ
Look on the grave where thou must sleepR
Thy last and strongest foeK
It is endurance not to weepR
If that repose seem woeK
The long war closing in defeatS
Defeat serenely borneT
Thy midnight rest may still be sweetS
And break in glorious mornT

Emily Bronte


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