EPISODE · Dec 4, 2025 · 2 MIN
Evening Solace by Charlotte Brontë
from The Poetry Podcast · host Jessica M
To join this community on Patreon, click here:https://www.patreon.com/cw/welcome2thepoetrypodcastThe human heart has hidden treasures,In secret kept, in silence sealed;—The thoughts, the hopes, the dreams, the pleasures,Whose charms were broken if revealed.And days may pass in gay confusion,And nights in rosy riot fly,While, lost in Fame's or Wealth's illusion,The memory of the Past may die.But there are hours of lonely musing,Such as in evening silence come,When, soft as birds their pinions closing,The heart's best feelings gather home.Then in our souls there seems to languishA tender grief that is not woe;And thoughts that once wrung groans of anguishNow cause but some mild tears to flow.And feelings, once as strong as passions,Float softly back—a faded dream;Our own sharp griefs and wild sensations,The tale of others' sufferings seem.Oh! when the heart is freshly bleeding,How longs it for that time to be,When, through the mist of years receding,Its woes but live in reverie!And it can dwell on moonlight glimmer,On evening shade and loneliness;And, while the sky grows dim and dimmer,Feel no untold and strange distress—Only a deeper impulse givenBy lonely hour and darkened room,To solemn thoughts that soar to heavenSeeking a life and world to come.
What this episode covers
To join this community on Patreon, click here:https://www.patreon.com/cw/welcome2thepoetrypodcastThe human heart has hidden treasures,In secret kept, in silence sealed;—The thoughts, the hopes, the dreams, the pleasures,Whose charms were broken if revealed.And days may pass in gay confusion,And nights in rosy riot fly,While, lost in Fame's or Wealth's illusion,The memory of the Past may die.But there are hours of lonely musing,Such as in evening silence come,When, soft as birds their pinions closing,The heart's best feelings gather home.Then in our souls there seems to languishA tender grief that is not woe;And thoughts that once wrung groans of anguishNow cause but some mild tears to flow.And feelings, once as strong as passions,Float softly back—a faded dream;Our own sharp griefs and wild sensations,The tale of others' sufferings seem.Oh! when the heart is freshly bleeding,How longs it for that time to be,When, through the mist of years receding,Its woes but live in reverie!And it can dwell on moonlight glimmer,On evening shade and loneliness;And, while the sky grows dim and dimmer,Feel no untold and strange distress—Only a deeper impulse givenBy lonely hour and darkened room,To solemn thoughts that soar to heavenSeeking a life and world to come.
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Evening Solace by Charlotte Brontë
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