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5 giorni fa · – Emily Brontë, “The Philosopher” Bronte Studies invites new and original essays of no more than 7,500 words responding to the theme of “The Brontes and the Wild,” which inspired the Bronte Parsonage Museum’s 2023 programme of events and activities and the Bronte Society’s conference.
6 giorni fa · Branwell Brontë, self-portrait, 1840. The Brontës ( / ˈbrɒntiz /) were a nineteenth-century literary family, born in the village of Thornton and later associated with the village of Haworth in the West Riding of Yorkshire, England. The sisters, Charlotte (1816–1855), Emily (1818–1848) and Anne (1820–1849), are well-known poets and ...
3 giorni fa · Emily Jane Brontë. Emily Jane Brontë was an English novelist and poet who is best known for her only novel, Wuthering Heights, now considered a classic of English literature. She also published one book of poetry with her sisters Charlotte and Anne titled Poems by Currer, Ellis and Acton Bell with her own poems finding regard as poetic genius.
5 giorni fa · Emily Jane Brontë (, commonly ; 30 July 1818 – 19 December 1848) was an English novelist and poet who is best known for her only novel, Wuthering Heights, now considered a classic of English literature. She also published a book of poetry with her sisters Charlotte and Anne titled Poems by Currer, Ellis and Acton Bell with her own poems ...
this is lovely. 2. Reply. Award. 2M subscribers in the Poetry community. A place for sharing published poetry. For sharing orignal content, please visit r/OCPoetry.
4 giorni fa · Charlotte Brontë took back to England not just a throng of impressions and emotions, but a travelling trunk packed with Brussels mementoes, the most treasured of which were gifts from Heger. He had presented his star pupil with books and copies of stirring, patriotic speeches he had made at the annual prize-giving for pupils at the Athénée Royal, the prestigious boys’ school where he taught.
2 giorni fa · Mild The Mist Upon The Hill. Mild the mist upon the hill. Telling not of storms tomorrow; No, the day has wept its fill, Spent its store of silent sorrow. O, I'm gone back to the days of youth, I am a child once more, And 'neath my father 's sheltering roof. And near the old hall door.
