This is a retelling of Wuthering Heights in the style of an epic poem. I have used a special rhyme scheme (ABABCC) and a metrical scheme (4 lines in iambic tetrameter, 2 in pentameter) that I feel would do the work the most justice. This is a work in progress; I may make edits in the wording, as I find my poetry is ever changing with each reread. Still, it's an exciting thing for me to write in poetry what I feel is the best portrayal of a world filled with opposing light and darkness. I've used an alternating left/middle alignment pattern to demarcate each stanza.
Wuthering Heights: The Epic
The house that lay across the moor
Was wreathed in rain and chilly mist.
The master stepped up to the door
As servants ran out to assist
The man and this dark-haired gypsy lad
Whose countenance was one enigma mad.
"Earnshaw! Catherine! Come down, I say!
Please greet this boy as your own kin.
I found this foundling on my way,
Heathcliff's the name, look after him."
With condescending eyes they viewed the boy,
Worth nothing more than a dirty toy.
How can I say? The boy he looked
Swarthy, dark in skin and hair.
His eyes showed years of family foresook,
Two feral beasts were hidden there.
Earnshaw, he was nothing to behold,
But Catherine! She was passionate and bold.
She warmed to Heathcliff soon enough:
In innocence they ran and played
Atop the hills and in the rough
'Til sunshine gleams would start to fade,
And then the two of them would run back home,
Hand-in-hand, all covered in black loam.