Wednesday, March 09, 2011

Found poem: Jane Eyre

No contact strikes the fire from you that is in you.

An unflushed cheek,

A coruscating radiance of glance.

Disease had thus become an inhabitant of Lowood,

Death its frequent visitor.

Ere long, steps retreated up the gallery towards the third-storey staircase.

There was gloom and fear within its walls.

On hayfield and cornfield lay a frozen shroud;

There was no possibility of taking a walk that day.

Jane Eyre, who had been an ardent, expectant woman--almost a bride.

Jane Eyre was a cold, solitary girl again.

Drifts crushed the blowing roses.

Ice glazed the ripe apples,

Her life was pale.

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