We're working on a bulletin board for outside the English Department office. The Dept. secretary asked if I could recommend any winter poems and I instantly thought of this Brontë poem, which my grandmother loves. I'm inside and warm right now but I need to go return some library books and walk to my car and I do not want to go into the cold; not quite spellbound but bound to the warmth.
by Emily Brontë
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 dear can move me;
I will not, cannot go.