Plead for Me

By Emily Brontë

O thy bright eyes must answer now,

When Reason, with a scornful brow,

Is mocking at my overthrow;

O thy sweet tongue must plead for me

And tell why I have chosen thee!

Stern Reason is to judgment come

Arrayed in all her forms of gloom:

Wilt thou my advocate be dumb?

No, radiant angel, speak and say

Why I did cast the world away;

Why I have persevered to shun

The common paths that others run;

And on a strange road journeyed on

Heedless alike of Wealth and Power—

Of Glory's wreath and Pleasure's flower.

These once indeed seemed Beings divine,

And they perchance heard vows of mine

And saw my offerings on their shrine—

But, careless gifts are seldom prized,

And mine were worthily despised;

So with a ready heart I swore

To seek their altar-stone no more,

And gave my spirit to adore

Thee, ever present, phantom thing—

My slave, my comrade, and my King!

A slave because I rule thee still;

Incline thee to my changeful will

And make thy influence good or ill—

A comrade, for by day and night

Thou art my intimate delight—

My Darling Pain that wounds and sears

And wrings a blessing out from tears

By deadening me to real cares;

And yet, a king—though prudence well

Have taught thy subject to rebel.

And am I wrong to worship where

Faith cannot doubt nor Hope despair,

Since my own soul can grant my prayer?

Speak, God of Visions, plead for me

And tell why I have chosen thee!

Source: Poets of the English Language (Viking Press, 1950)