Gentle Reader – today’s the anniversary of my father’s death. All Soul’s Day, when we remember our beloved dead – fitting, is it not? I’ll be spending time with Maman, today, and when we go to dinner, I’ll order a brandy, up – my father’s signature drink, when he was out. It’s comprised of brandy, served straight, in its proper glass – the snifter. Somehow, no one can ever manage this – it became a family joke, for years and years.
At any rate, as is fitting for today, I grow introspective and glum this time of year. Today’s poem, Charlotte Brontë’s “On the Death of Anne Brontë”, feels massively appropriate. Enjoy.On the Death of Anne Brontë by Charlotte Brontë There’s little joy in life for me,
And little terror in the grave;
I’ve lived the parting hour to see
Of one I would have died to save. Calmly to watch the failing breath,
Wishing each sigh might be the last;
Longing to see the shade of death
O’er those belovèd features cast. The cloud, the stillness that must part
The darling of my life from me;
And then to thank God from my heart,
To thank Him well and fervently; Although I knew that we had lost
The hope and glory of our life;
And now, benighted, tempest-tossed,
Must bear alone the weary strife.