Saturday Poem – Spellbound

It’s cold, it’s grey, it’s miserable. It’s blumming lockdown again and the world has lost its mind. We are snuggled up at home with a rampaging toddler, placating him with frequent baking sessions and an awful lot of chat about trains. I felt guilty about how little time I spent promoting Anne Brontë’s bicentenary last year so I was trying to find a poem of hers to suit the season. Unfortunately, the only one I could find was ‘Music on Christmas Morning’ (too late!) and so in the end I had to switch sisters. This poem feels particularly appropriate for the world we live in – stay safe, stay warm and hold your loved ones close.

Spellbound

The night is darkening round me,

The wild winds coldly blow;

But a tyrant spell has bound me

And I cannot, cannot go.

The giant trees are bending

Their bare boughs weighed with snow.

And the storm is fast descending,

And yet I cannot go.

Clouds beyond clouds above me,

Wastes beyond wastes below;

But nothing drear can move me;

I will not, cannot go.

Emily Brontë

For past Saturday Poems, take a look at the archive in Poetry Please.

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