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On Emily’s Moor
by Caroline Gill

You walkers flock like ravens from the fell,
with eyes of flint; ignited by a flame —
a spark extinguished by a cruel knell.
Consumption struck, but Emily found fame.
She stamped her presence on these Haworth hills,
where shadows fall like lead; eclipse the sun
and cling like cobwebs when the vixen howls.
Night canters through the sky, where stars once shone.
Beware the moor — seek out the Brontë Way:
press on past Enshaw Knoll towards Black Leech.
Don’t linger on the rocks, or ask me why
wild horses hang in mist beyond your reach.
Top Withens stands, though Emily’s steps fail
to come. Go home: you won’t forget her tale.

Published in: Seventh Quarry issue 1 (ed. Peter Thabit Jones).
Metverse Muse (ed. Dr H. Tulsi, Visakhapatnam,
India, Silver Jubilee Issue, March 2009 p.112).

N.B. I have followed the Brontë Society spelling of
‘Withens’ (as on the B.S. plaque), rather than the oldest
recorded version of the word, ‘Withins’.


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