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Description
O GOD! if this indeed be all
That Life can show to me;
If on my aching brow may fall
No freshening dew from Thee;

If with no brighter light than this
The lamp of hope may glow,
And I may only dream of bliss,
And wake to weary woe;

If friendship's solace must decay,
When other joys are gone,
And love must keep so far away,
While I go wandering on,--

Wandering and toiling without gain,
The slave of others' will,
With constant care, and frequent pain,
Despised, forgotten still;

Grieving to look on vice and sin,
Yet powerless to quell
The silent current from within,
The outward torrent's swell

While all the good I would impart,
The feelings I would share,
Are driven backward to my heart,
And turned to wormwood there;

If clouds must ever keep from sight
The glories of the Sun,
And I must suffer Winter's blight,
Ere Summer is begun;

If Life must be so full of care,
Then call me soon to thee;
Or give me strength enough to bear
My load of misery.

~Anne Brontë [link]

I LOVE the Brontë sisters, and a few weeks ago, I came across this poem by Anne. Naturally, guess who jumped to my mind first? This poem is Erik to a "t."

Texture: [link]
I've lost the name of the stock reference I used for this, so if anyone is able to find it, I would be much obliged.

"The Phantom of the Opera" © Gaston Leroux.
Art © me.

Description
O GOD! if this indeed be all
That Life can show to me;
If on my aching brow may fall
No freshening dew from Thee;

If with no brighter light than this
The lamp of hope may glow,
And I may only dream of bliss,
And wake to weary woe;

If friendship's solace must decay,
When other joys are gone,
And love must keep so far away,
While I go wandering on,--

Wandering and toiling without gain,
The slave of others' will,
With constant care, and frequent pain,
Despised, forgotten still;

Grieving to look on vice and sin,
Yet powerless to quell
The silent current from within,
The outward torrent's swell

While all the good I would impart,
The feelings I would share,
Are driven backward to my heart,
And turned to wormwood there;

If clouds must ever keep from sight
The glories of the Sun,
And I must suffer Winter's blight,
Ere Summer is begun;

If Life must be so full of care,
Then call me soon to thee;
Or give me strength enough to bear
My load of misery.

~Anne Brontë [link]

I LOVE the Brontë sisters, and a few weeks ago, I came across this poem by Anne. Naturally, guess who jumped to my mind first? This poem is Erik to a "t."

Texture: [link]
I've lost the name of the stock reference I used for this, so if anyone is able to find it, I would be much obliged.

"The Phantom of the Opera" © Gaston Leroux.
Art © me.