Oh, for the time when I shall sleep

Without identity,

And never care how rain may steep,

Or snow may cover me!

No promised heaven these wild desires

Could all, or half, fulful;

No threatened hell, with quenchless fires,

Subdue this quenchless will!

So said I, and still say the same;

Still, to my death, will say—

Three gods within this little frame

Are warring night and day:

Heaven could not hold them all, and yet

They all are held in me;

And must be mine till I forget

My present entity!

Oh, for the time when in my breast

Their struggles will be o’er!

Oh, for the day when I shall rest,

And never suffer more!

(Emily Bronte)