Sonnet IX.

Fair is the rising morn when o'er the sky
    The orient sun expands his roseate ray,
And lovely to the Bard's enthusiast eye
    Fades the meek radiance of departing day;
But fairer is the smile of one we love,
    Than all the scenes in Nature's ample sway.
And sweeter than the music of the grove,
    The voice that bids us welcome. Such delight
    EDITH! is mine, escaping to thy sight
From the hard durance of the empty throng.
    Too swiftly then towards the silent night
Ye Hours of happiness! ye speed along,
    Whilst I, from all the World's cold cares apart,
    Pour out the feelings of my burthen'd heart.

Robert Southey

Robert Southey was an English poet, biographer, essayist, and historian. Born on August 12, 1774, he was associated with the Romantic school of poetry and is well known for his works such as 'The Story of the Three Bears', which is the origin of the famous Goldilocks tale. He served as Poet Laureate of the United Kingdom from 1813 until his death in 1843. His prolific output included not just poetry, but also significant biographical and historical works.

Robert Southey

Sonnet VIII.

Robert Southey, Simple Poetry

To The Chapel Bell.

Robert Southey, Simple Poetry

Sonnet IV.

Robert Southey, Simple Poetry

To Mary Wollstonecraft.

Robert Southey, Simple Poetry

English

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Sonnet I.

Go Valentine and tell that lovely maid
    Whom Fancy still will pourtray to my sight,
How her Bard lingers in this sullen shade,
    This dreary gloom of dull monastic night.
Say that from every joy of life remote
    At evening's closing hour he quits the throng,
Listening alone the ring-dove's plaintive note
    Who pours like him her solitary song.
Say that her absence calls the sorrowing sigh,
    Say that of all her charms he loves to speak,
In fancy feels the magic of her eye,
    In fancy views the smile illume her cheek,
Courts the lone hour when Silence stills the grove
And heaves the sigh of Memory and of Love.

Robert Southey

Sonnet VIII.

With many a weary step, at length I gain
    Thy summit, Lansdown; and the cool breeze plays,
    Gratefully round my brow, as hence the gaze
Returns to dwell upon the journeyed plain.
    'Twas a long way and tedious! to the eye
Tho fair the extended vale, and fair to view
The falling leaves of many a faded hue,
    That eddy in the wild gust moaning by.
Even so it fared with Life! in discontent
Restless thro' Fortune's mingled scenes I went,
    Yet wept to think they would return no more!
But cease fond heart in such sad thoughts to roam,
For surely thou ere long shall reach thy home,
    And pleasant is the way that lies before.

Robert Southey

Sonnet VII. To The Evening Rainbow.

Mild arch of promise! on the evening sky
    Thou shinest fair with many a lovely ray
Each in the other melting. Much mine eye
    Delights to linger on thee; for the day,
Changeful and many-weather'd, seem'd to smile
Flashing brief splendor thro' its clouds awhile,
    That deepen'd dark anon and fell in rain:
But pleasant is it now to pause, and view
Thy various tints of frail and watery hue,
    And think the storm shall not return again.
Such is the smile that Piety bestows
    On the good man's pale cheek, when he in peace
Departing gently from a world of woes,
    Anticipates the realm where sorrows cease.

Robert Southey

Sonnet III.

    Not to thee Bedford mournful is the tale
        Of days departed. Time in his career
        Arraigns not thee that the neglected year
    Has past unheeded onward. To the vale
    Of years thou journeyest. May the future road
        Be pleasant as the past! and on my friend
        Friendship and Love, best blessings! still attend,
    'Till full of days he reach the calm abode
    Where Nature slumbers. Lovely is the age
        Of Virtue. With such reverence we behold
        The silver hairs, as some grey oak grown old
    That whilome mock'd the rushing tempest's rage
    Now like the monument of strength decayed
With rarely-sprinkled leaves casting a trembling shade.

Robert Southey

Sonnet II.

    Think Valentine, as speeding on thy way
        Homeward thou hastest light of heart along,
    If heavily creep on one little day
        The medley crew of travellers among,
    Think on thine absent friend: reflect that here
        On Life's sad journey comfortless he roves,
    Remote from every scene his heart holds dear,
        From him he values, and from her he loves.
    And when disgusted with the vain and dull
        Whom chance companions of thy way may doom,
    Thy mind, of each domestic comfort full,
        Turns to itself and meditates on home,
    Ah think what Cares must ache within his breast
Who loaths the lingering road, yet has no home of rest!

Robert Southey

Sonnet.

With wayworn feet a Pilgrim woe-begone
    Life's upward road I journeyed many a day,
    And hymning many a sad yet soothing lay
Beguil'd my wandering with the charms of song.
    Lonely my heart and rugged was my way,
Yet often pluck'd I as I past along
    The wild and simple flowers of Poesy,
And as beseem'd the wayward Fancy's child
    Entwin'd each random weed that pleas'd mine eye.
Accept the wreath, BELOVED! it is wild
    And rudely garlanded; yet scorn not thou
The humble offering, where the sad rue weaves
'Mid gayer flowers its intermingled leaves,
    And I have twin'd the myrtle for thy brow.

Robert Southey