<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=115567" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Self-Interrogation</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">'The evening passes fast away.<br> 'Tis almost time to rest;<br>What thoughts has left the vanished day,<br> What feelings in thy breast?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'The vanished day? It leaves a sense<br> Of labour hardly done;<br>Of little gained with vast expense—<br> A sense of grief alone?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Time stands before the door of Death,<br> Upbraiding bitterly<br>And Conscience, with exhaustless breath,<br> Pours black reproach on me:</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'And though I've said that Conscience lies<br> And Time should Fate condemn;<br>Still, sad Repentance clouds my eyes,<br> And makes me yield to them!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Then art thou glad to seek repose?<br> Art glad to leave the sea,<br>And anchor all thy weary woes<br> In calm Eternity?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Nothing regrets to see thee go—<br> Not one voice sobs' farewell;'<br>And where thy heart has suffered so,<br> Canst thou desire to dwell?"</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Alas! the countless links are strong<br> That bind us to our clay;<br>The loving spirit lingers long,<br> And would not pass away!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'And rest is sweet, when laurelled fame<br> Will crown the soldier's crest;<br>But a brave heart, with a tarnished name,<br> Would rather fight than rest.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Well, thou hast fought for many a year,<br> Hast fought thy whole life through,<br>Hast humbled Falsehood, trampled Fear;<br> What is there left to do?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Tis true, this arm has hotly striven,<br> Has dared what few would dare;<br>Much have I done, and freely given,<br> But little learnt to bear!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Look on the grave where thou must sleep<br> Thy last, and strongest foe;<br>It is endurance not to weep,<br> If that repose seem woe.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'The long war closing in defeat—<br> Defeat serenely borne,—<br>Thy midnight rest may still be sweet,<br> And break in glorious morn!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Emily+Bront%C3%AB">Emily Brontë</a> from <i>Poems by Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell</i><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <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=115567" data-title="Self-Interrogation de Emily Brontë" data-description="'The evening passes fast away./ 'Tis almost time to rest;/What thoughts has left the vanished day,/ What feelings in thy breast?/'The vanished day? It leaves a sense/ Of labour hardly done;/Of little gained with vast expense—/ A sense of grief a..."></div> </div> </div>

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