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The poems by Emily Brontë are very dark and sad, full of cold, snow, night, stars, moors, dreams, ferns (she obviously loved that plant though in the poems it's mostly always dying). The language is easy to understand, by which I mean that it is quite clear and not that high-brow as you would suspect (as I always do) of a 19th century poem. Nonetheless, they are clearly works of art. The form is splendid. They have a unique voice. I really love reading them.
