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/lit/ - Literature

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19228465 No.19228465 [Reply] [Original]

>Emily Brontë, once diagnosed with consumption, did everything in her power to hasten the progress of the disease. She refused medical care and continued her daily routine of chores and writing until she was too weak to do so. Charlotte was very concerned that her actions would be considered a type of suicide, and sought a religious ruling from family patriarch Patrick Brontë on the matter. His opinion is lost to history, but, given that she was buried in a Anglican cemetery by Patrick we can assume he judged it a natural death. It’s no wonder many of her loved ones saw her death as a potentially self inflicted. Emily cried herself to sleep almost every night from her adolescence onward and was the most melancholy member of the household. She often refused food, and nearly froze to death on the moors, walking them in the deep winter with no regard to her safety. Near the end, delirious with blood poisoning, Emily composed darker and more psychedelic poems that evoked Christian mysticism and expressed a strong desire for death.

Was it autism?

>> No.19228479
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19228479

>>19228465
>Was it autism?
because some say it was

>> No.19228502
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19228502

Where do I start with her poetry?

>> No.19228509

>>19228502
The Everyman's Library collection is good to go.

>> No.19228517

>>19228502
this is a good question, I also want to know

>> No.19228528

>>19228509
thank u

>> No.19228536

>>19228517
If you want to read them for free:

https://en.wikisource.org/wiki/The_Complete_Poems_of_Emily_Bront%C3%AB

This one always gets me.

I have gone backward in the work,
The labour has not sped,
Drowsy and dark my spirit lies,
Heavy and dull as lead.


How can I rouse my sinking soul
From such a lethargy?
How can I break these iron chains,
And set my spirit free?


There have been times when I have mourned,
In anguish o'er the past;
And raised my suppliant hands on high,
While tears fell thick and fast.


And prayed to have my sins forgiven,
With such a fervent zeal,
An earnest grief—a strong desire
That now I cannot feel!


And vowed to trample on my sins,
And called on Heaven to aid
My spirit in her firm resolves
And hear the vows I made.

And I have felt so full of love,
So strong in spirit then,
As if my heart would never cool,
Or wander back again.


And yet, alas! how many times
My feet have gone astray;
How oft have I forgot my God,
How greatly fallen away!


My sins increase, my love grows cold,
And Hope within me dies,
And Faith itself is wavering now;
O how shall I arise!


I cannot weep, but I can pray,
Then let me not despair;
Lord Jesus, save me lest I die,
And hear a wretch's prayer.

>> No.19229170

>>19228528
No problem

>> No.19229187

>wah, I'm chemically imbalanced in the brain type of depressed and you should feel bad for me
Stupid, white bitch.

>> No.19229532

>>19229187
That’s not very nice.

>> No.19229583

>>19228465
Awkward virgin . Afraid of penis.

>> No.19229673

>>19229583
Yeah, if she had some penile churning she would fare better in the society. Instead she became furbies

>> No.19229684

Wuthering Heights was one of my favorite books we had to read in high school. Much better than Pride and Prejudice. I wouldn't be surprised if Emily was /ourgal/.