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    On The Death Of Anne Bronte

    by Charlotte Bronte
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    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.
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