Sonnet LVI. To A Timid Young Lady, Distressed By The Attentions Of An Amiable, And Accepted Lover.

What bashful wildness in those crystal eyes,
    Fair Zillia! - Ah! more dear to LOVE the gaze
    That dwells upon its object, than the rays
    Of that vague glance, quick, as in summer skies
The lightning's lambent flash, when neither rise
    Thunder, nor storm. - I mark, while transport plays
    Warm in thy Lover's eye, what dread betrays
    Thy throbbing heart: - yet why from his soft sighs
Fleet'st thou so swift away? - like the young Hind[1],
    That bending stands the fountain's brim beside,
    When, with a sudden gust, the western wind
Rustles among the boughs that shade the tide:
    See, from the stream, innoxious and benign,
    Starting she bounds, with terror vain as thine!

1: "Vitas hinnuleo me similis Chloe." HORACE.

Anna Seward

Anna Seward was an English Romantic poet often called the 'Swan of Lichfield'. She was known for both her poetry and her extensive letter writing, which provided insight into 18th-century literary life. Seward was a steadfast critic of the neoclassicism that dominated much of the contemporary poetry scene, favoring a Romantic approach that sought to capture emotion and natural beauty. Her works often revolved around themes of love, loss, and nature. She was also a close friend of writers such as Erasmus Darwin and Samuel Johnson.

Anna Seward

Odes From Horace. - To The Roman People, On Their Renewing The Civil Wars. Book The Fifth, Ode The Seventh.

Anna Seward, Simple Poetry

Sonnet XX. On Reading A Description Of Pope's Gardens At Twickenham.

Anna Seward, Simple Poetry

Sonnet VII.

Anna Seward, Simple Poetry

Odes From Horace. - To Licinius Murena[1]. Book The Second, Ode The Tenth.

Anna Seward, 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 LXXXVII. To A Young Lady, Addressed By A Gentleman Celebrated For His Poetic Talents.

Round Cleon's brow the Delphic laurels twine,
    And lo! the laurel decks Amanda's breast!
    Charm'd shall he mark its glossy branches shine
    On that contrasting snow; shall see express'd
Love's better omens, in the green hues dress'd
    Of this selected foliage. - Nymph, 't is thine
    The warning story on its leaves to find,
    Proud Daphne's fate, imprison'd in its rind,
And with its umbrage veil'd, great Phoebus' power
    Scorning, and bent, with feet of wind, to foil
    His swift pursuit, till on Thessalian shore
Shot into boughs, and rooted to the soil. -
    Thus warn'd, fair Maid, Apollo's ire to shun,
    Soon may his Spray's and VOTARY's lot be one.

Anna Seward

Translations Of The Italian Poems

I

Fair Lady, whose harmonious name the Rheno
    Through all his grassy vale delights to hear,
    Base were, indeed, the wretch, who could forbear
    To love a spirit elegant as thine,
That manifests a sweetness all divine,
    Nor knows a thousand winning acts to spare,
    And graces, which Love's bow and arrows are,
    Temp'ring thy virtues to a softer shine.
When gracefully thou speak'st, or singest gay
    Such strains as might the senseless forest move,
    Ah then--turn each his eyes and ears away,
Who feels himself unworthy of thy love!
    Grace can alone preserve him, e'er the dart
    Of fond desire yet reach his inmost heart.

II

As on a hill-top rude, when closing day
    Imbrowns the scene, some past'ral maiden fair
...

William Cowper

Woman! When I Behold Thee Flippant, Vain

Woman! when I behold thee flippant, vain,
Inconstant, childish, proud, and full of fancies;
Without that modest softening that enhances
The downcast eye, repentant of the pain
That its mild light creates to heal again:
E'en then, elate, my spirit leaps, and prances,
E'en then my soul with exultation dances
For that to love, so long, I've dormant lain:
But when I see thee meek, and kind, and tender,
Heavens! how desperately do I adore
Thy winning graces; to be thy defender
I hotly burn to be a Calidore
A very Red Cross Knight a stout Leander
Might I be loved by thee like these of yore.

Light feet, dark violet eyes, and parted hair;
Soft dimpled hands, white neck, and creamy breast,
Are things on which the dazzled senses rest
Till the fond, fixed eyes...

John Keats

Sonnet LXXIV.

[1]In sultry noon when youthful MILTON lay,
    Supinely stretch'd beneath the poplar shade,
    Lur'd by his Form, a fair Italian Maid
    Steals from her loitering chariot, to survey
The slumbering charms, that all her soul betray.
    Then, as coy fears th' admiring gaze upbraid,
    Starts; - and these lines, with hurried pen pourtray'd,
    Slides in his half-clos'd hand; - and speeds away. -
"Ye eyes, ye human stars! - if, thus conceal'd
    By Sleep's soft veil, ye agitate my heart,
    Ah! what had been its conflict if reveal'd
Your rays had shone!" - Bright Nymph, thy strains impart
    Hopes, that impel the graceful Bard to rove,
    Seeking thro' Tuscan Vales his visionary Love.

1: This romantic circumstance of our great Poet's juvenility was inserted, ...

Anna Seward

After Tibullus

Illius est nobis lege colendus amor

On her own terms, O lover, must thou take
The heart's beloved: be she kind, 'tis well,
Cruel, expect no more; not for thy sake
But for the fire in thee that melts her snows
For a brief spell
She loves thee - "loves" thee!    Though thy heart should break,
Though thou shouldst lie athirst for her in hell,
    She could not pity thee: who of the Rose,
Or of the Moon, asks pity, or return
    Of love for love? and she is even as those.
Beauty is she, thou Love, and thou must learn,
O lover, this:
Thine is she for the music thou canst pour
    Through her white limbs, the madness, the deep dream;
Thine, while thy kiss
    Can sweep her flaming with thee down the stream
That is not thou nor she but merely bliss;...

Richard Le Gallienne

Sonnet XXXVII.

Il mio avversario, in cui veder solete.

LAURA AT HER LOOKING-GLASS.


    My foe, in whom you see your own bright eyes,
Adored by Love and Heaven with honour due,
With beauties not its own enamours you,
Sweeter and happier than in mortal guise.
Me, by its counsel, lady, from your breast,
My chosen cherish'd home, your scorn expell'd
In wretched banishment, perchance not held
Worthy to dwell where you alone should rest.
But were I fasten'd there with strongest keys,
That mirror should not make you, at my cost,
Severe and proud yourself alone to please.
Remember how Narcissus erst was lost!
His course and thine to one conclusion lead,
Of flower so fair though worthless here the mead.

MACGREGOR.


    My mirror'd foe re...

Francesco Petrarca