Sonnet, To Expression.

Expression, child of soul! I fondly trace
    Thy strong enchantments, when the poet's lyre,
    The painter's pencil catch thy sacred fire,
And beauty wakes for thee her touching grace -
But from this frighted glance thy form avert
    When horrors check thy tear, thy struggling sigh,
    When frenzy rolls in thy impassion'd eye,
Or guilt sits heavy on thy lab'ring heart -
Nor ever let my shudd'ring fancy bear
    The wasting groan, or view the pallid look
    Of him[A] the Muses lov'd - when hope forsook
His spirit, vainly to the Muses dear!
For charm'd with heav'nly song, this bleeding breast,
Mourns the blest power of verse could give despair no rest. -

[A]    Chatterton.

Helen Maria Williams

Helen Maria Williams was an English poet, novelist, translator, and abolitionist known for her support of the French Revolution. She made significant contributions to literature through her poems and novels, highlighting issues of her time such as gender equality and political justice. Her works were praised for their emotional depth and social commentary. She was also an influential figure in the abolitionist movement, championing the cause of ending slavery.

Helen Maria Williams

Sonnet, To Mrs. Siddons.

Helen Maria Williams, Simple Poetry

Peru. Canto The Fourth.

Helen Maria Williams, Simple Poetry

Paraphrases From Scripture. MATT. vii. 12.

Helen Maria Williams, Simple Poetry

An American Tale.

Helen Maria Williams, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

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

Sonnet: On seeing Miss Helen Maria Williams Weep At A tale Of Distress

She wept. Life's purple tide began to flow
In languid streams through every thrilling vein;
Dim were my swimming eyes, my pulse beat slow,
And my full heart was swell'd to dear delicious pain.
Life left my loaded heart, and closing eye;
A sigh recall'd the wanderer to my breast;
Dear was the pause of life, and dear the sigh
That call'd the wanderer home, and home to rest.
That tear proclaims in thee each virtue dwells,
And bright will shine in misery's midnight hour;
As the soft star of dewy evening tells
What radiant fires were drown'd by day's malignant pow'r,
That only wait the darkness of the night
To cheer the wand'ring wretch with hospitable light.

William Wordsworth

Sonnet, To Mrs. Siddons.

Siddons! the Muse, for many a joy refin'd,
    Feelings which ever seem too swiftly fled -
    For those delicious tears she loves to shed,
Around thy brow the wreath of praise would bind -
But can her feeble notes thy praise unfold?
    Repeat the tones each changing passion gives,
    Or mark where nature in thy action lives,
Where, in thy pause, she speaks a pang untold!
When fierce ambition steels thy daring breast,
    When from thy frantic look our glance recedes;
Or oh, divine enthusiast! when opprest
    By anxious love, that eye of softness pleads -
The sun-beam all can feel, but who can trace
The instant light, and catch the radiant grace!

Helen Maria Williams

Sonnet To Twilight.

Meek Twilight! soften the declining day,
    And bring the hour my pensive spirit loves;
When, o'er the mountain flow descends the ray
    That gives to silence the deserted groves.
Ah, let the happy court the morning still,
    When, in her blooming loveliness array'd,
She bids fresh beauty light the vale, or hill,
    And rapture warble in the vocal shade.
Sweet is the odour of the morning's flower,
    And rich in melody her accents rise;
Yet dearer to my soul the shadowy hour,
    At which her blossoms close, her music dies -
For then, while languid nature droops her head,
She wakes the tear 'tis luxury to shed.

Helen Maria Williams

Sonnet, To Mrs. Bates.

Oh, thou whose melody the heart obeys,
Thou who can'st all its subject passions move,
Whose notes to heav'n the list'ning soul can raise,
Can thrill with pity, or can melt with love!
Happy! whom nature lent this native charm;
Whose melting tones can shed with magic power,
A sweeter pleasure o'er the social hour,
The breast to softness sooth, to virtue warm - But
yet more happy! that thy life as clear
From discord, as thy perfect cadence flows;
That tun'd to sympathy, thy faithful tear,
In mild accordance falls for others woes;
That all the tender, pure affections bind
In chains of harmony, thy willing mind!

Helen Maria Williams

Sonnet To Chatterton

O Chatterton! how very sad thy fate!
Dear child of sorrow son of misery!
How soon the film of death obscur'd that eye,
Whence Genius mildly falsh'd, and high debate.
How soon that voice, majestic and elate,
Melted in dying numbers! Oh! how nigh
Was night to thy fair morning. Thou didst die
A half-blown flow'ret which cold blasts amate.
But this is past: thou art among the stars
Of highest heaven: to the rolling spheres
Thou sweetly singest: nought thy hymning mars,
Above the ingrate world and human fears.
On earth the good man base detraction bars
From thy fair name, and waters it with tears.

John Keats

To Sensibility.

In Sensibility's lov'd praise
    I tune my trembling reed;
And seek to deck her shrine with bays,
    On which my heart must bleed!

No cold exemption from her pain
    I ever wish'd to know;
Cheer'd with her transport, I sustain
    Without complaint her woe.

Above whate'er content can give,
    Above the charm of ease,
The restless hopes, and fears that live
    With her, have power to please.

Where but for her, were Friendship's power
    To heal the wounded heart,
To shorten sorrow's ling'ring hour,
    And bid its gloom depart?

'Tis she that lights the melting eye
    With looks to anguish dear;
She knows the price of ev'ry sigh,
    The value of a tear.

She prompts the tender marks of love
   ...

Helen Maria Williams