Sonnet.

Storm had been on the hills. The day had worn
As if a sleep upon the hours had crept;
And the dark clouds that gather'd at the morn
In dull, impenetrable masses slept,
And the wept leaves hung droopingly, and all
Was like the mournful aspect of a pall.
Suddenly on the horizon's edge, a blue
And delicate line, as of a pencil, lay,
And, as it wider and intenser grew,
The darkness removed silently away,
And, with the splendor of a God, broke through
The perfect glory of departing day -
So, when his stormy pilgrimage is o'er,
Will light upon the dying Christian pour.

Nathaniel Parker Willis

Nathaniel Parker Willis was an American author, poet, and editor who was among the most popular literary figures of his time. He founded and edited several periodicals and wrote many poems, essays, and travelogues. Willis was known for his urbane style, which influenced the development of 19th-century American literature. Despite his widespread popularity during his lifetime, his work fell out of favor in the years following his death.

Nathaniel Parker Willis

Idleness.

Nathaniel Parker Willis, Simple Poetry

January 1, 1828

Nathaniel Parker Willis, Simple Poetry

The Declaration.

Nathaniel Parker Willis, Simple Poetry

On The Death Of Miss Fanny V. Apthorp.

Nathaniel Parker Willis, Simple Poetry

English

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Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

Sonnet. Winter.

The frozen ground looks gray. 'Twill shut the snow
    Out from its bosom, and the flakes will fall
Softly and lie upon it. The hushed flow
    Of the ice-covered waters, and the call
Of the cold driver to his oxen slow,
    And the complaining of the gust, are all
That I can hear of music - would that I
With the green summer like a leaf might die?
So will a man grow gray, and on his head
    The snow of years lie visibly, and so
Will come a frost when his green years have fled,
    And his chilled pulses sluggishly will flow,
And his deep voice be shaken - would that I
In the green summer of my youth might die!

Nathaniel Parker Willis

Sonnet.

Elegance floats about thee like a dress,
    Melting the airy motion of thy form
Into one swaying grace, and loveliness,
    Like a rich tint that makes a picture warm,
Is lurking in the chesnut of thy tress,
    Enriching it, as moonlight after storm
Mingles dark shadows into gentleness.
    A beauty that bewilders like a spell
Reigns in thine eye's clear hazel, and thy brow
    So pure in vein'd transparency doth tell
How spiritually beautiful art thou -
    A temple where angelic love might dwell.
Life in thy presence were a thing to keep,
Like a gay dreamer clinging to his sleep.

Nathaniel Parker Willis

Sonnet X.

How darkly o'er yon far-off mountain frowns
    The gather'd tempest! from that lurid cloud
    The deep-voiced thunders roll, aweful and loud
Tho' distant; while upon the misty downs
Fast falls in shadowy streaks the pelting rain.
    I never saw so terrible a storm!
Perhaps some way-worn traveller in vain
    Wraps his torn raiment round his shivering form
Cold even as Hope within him! I the while
Pause me in sadness tho' the sunbeams smile
    Cheerily round me. Ah that thus my lot
Might be with Peace and Solitude assign'd,
    Where I might from some little quiet cot,
Sigh for the crimes and miseries of mankind!

Robert Southey

Sonnet.

There was a beautiful spirit in her air,
    As of a fay at revel. Hidden springs,
Too delicate for knowledge, should be there,
    Moving her gently like invisible wings;
And then her lip out-blushing the red fruit
    That bursts with ripeness in the Autumn time,
And the arch eye you would not swear was mute,
    And the clear cheek, as of a purer clime,
And the low tone, soft as a pleasant flute
    Sent over water with the vesper chime;
And then her forehead with its loose, dark curl,
    And the bewildering smile that made her mouth
    Like a torn rose-leaf moistened of the South -
She has an angel's gifts - the radiant girl!

Nathaniel Parker Willis

Sonnet XVIII. An Evening In November, Which Had Been Stormy, Gradually Clearing Up, In A Mountainous Country.

Ceas'd is the rain; but heavy drops yet fall
    From the drench'd roof; - yet murmurs the sunk wind
    Round the dim hills; can yet a passage find
    Whistling thro' yon cleft rock, and ruin'd wall.
The swoln and angry torrents heard, appal,
    Tho' distant. - A few stars, emerging kind,
    Shed their green, trembling beams. - With lustre small,
    The moon, her swiftly-passing clouds behind,
Glides o'er that shaded hill. - Now blasts remove
    The shadowing clouds, and on the mountain's brow,
    Full-orb'd, she shines. - Half sunk within its cove
Heaves the lone boat, with gulphing sound; - and lo!
    Bright rolls the settling lake, and brimming rove
    The vale's blue rills, and glitter as they flow.

Anna Seward

Sonnet XCIX. On The Violent Thunder Storms.

DECEMBER 1790.


Remorseless WINTER! in thy iron reign
    Comes the loud whirlwind, on thy pinion borne;
    The long long night, - the tardy, leaden morn;
    The grey frost, riv'ling lane, and hill, and plain;
Chill silent snows, and heavy, pattering rain.
    These are thy known allies; - and Life forlorn,
    Yet patient, droops, nor breathes repinings vain;
    But now, Usurper, thou hast madly torn
From Summer's hand his stores of angry sway;
    His rattling thunders with thy winds unite,
    On thy pale snows those livid lightnings play,
That pour their deathful splendors o'er his night,
    To poise the pleasures of his golden day,
    Soft gales, blue skies, and long-protracted light.

Anna Seward