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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=115518" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Teacher's Monologue</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">The room is quiet, thoughts alone<br>People its mute tranquillity;<br>The yoke put on, the long task done,<br>I am, as it is bliss to be,<br>Still and untroubled. Now, I see,<br>For the first time, how soft the day<br>O'er waveless water, stirless tree,<br>Silent and sunny, wings its way.<br>Now, as I watch that distant hill,<br>So faint, so blue, so far removed,<br>Sweet dreams of home my heart may fill,<br>That home where I am known and loved:<br>It lies beyond; yon azure brow<br>Parts me from all Earth holds for me;<br>And, morn and eve, my yearnings flow<br>Thitherward tending, changelessly.<br>My happiest hours, aye ! all the time,<br>I love to keep in memory,<br>Lapsed among moors, ere life's first prime<br>Decayed to dark anxiety.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Sometimes, I think a narrow heart<br>Makes me thus mourn those far away,<br>And keeps my love so far apart<br>From friends and friendships of to-day;<br>Sometimes, I think 'tis but a dream<br>I measure up so jealously,<br>All the sweet thoughts I live on seem<br>To vanish into vacancy:<br>And then, this strange, coarse world around<br>Seems all that's palpable and true;<br>And every sight, and every sound,<br>Combines my spirit to subdue<br>To aching grief, so void and lone<br>Is Life and Earthso worse than vain,<br>The hopes that, in my own heart sown,<br>And cherished by such sun and rain<br>As Joy and transient Sorrow shed,<br>Have ripened to a harvest there:<br>Alas ! methinks I hear it said,<br>'Thy golden sheaves are empty air.'<br>All fades away; my very home<br>I think will soon be desolate;<br>I hear, at times, a warning come<br>Of bitter partings at its gate;<br>And, if I should return and see<br>The hearth-fire quenched, the vacant chair;<br>And hear it whispered mournfully,<br>That farewells have been spoken there,<br>What shall I do, and whither turn?<br>Where look for peace? When cease to mourn?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Tis not the air I wished to play,<br>The strain I wished to sing;<br>My wilful spirit slipped away<br>And struck another string.<br>I neither wanted smile nor tear,<br>Bright joy nor bitter woe,<br>But just a song that sweet and clear,<br>Though haply sad, might flow.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A quiet song, to solace me<br>When sleep refused to come;<br>A strain to chase despondency,<br>When sorrowful for home.<br>In vain I try; I cannot sing;<br>All feels so cold and dead;<br>No wild distress, no gushing spring<br>Of tears in anguish shed;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But all the impatient gloom of one<br>Who waits a distant day,<br>When, some great task of suffering done,<br>Repose shall toil repay.<br>For youth departs, and pleasure flies,<br>And life consumes away,<br>And youth's rejoicing ardour dies<br>Beneath this drear delay;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And Patience, weary with her yoke,<br>Is yielding to despair,<br>And Health's elastic spring is broke<br>Beneath the strain of care.<br>Life will be gone ere I have lived;<br>Where now is Life's first prime?<br>I've worked and studied, longed and grieved,<br>Through all that rosy time.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">To toil, to think, to long, to grieve,<br>Is such my future fate?<br>The morn was dreary, must the eve<br>Be also desolate?<br>Well, such a life at least makes Death<br>A welcome, wished-for friend;<br>Then, aid me, Reason, Patience, Faith,<br>To suffer to the end!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Charlotte+Bront%C3%AB">Charlotte Brontë</a> from <i>Poems by Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell</i><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=115518" data-title="The Teacher's Monologue de Charlotte Brontë" data-description="The room is quiet, thoughts alone/People its mute tranquillity;/The yoke put on, the long task done,/I am, as it is bliss to be,/Still and untroubled. Now, I see,/For the first time, how soft the day/O'er waveless water, stirless tree,/Silent an..."></div>
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