Sonnet XXIII. To Miss E. S.

Do I not tell thee surly Winter's flown,
    That the brook's verge is green; - and bid thee hear,
    In yon irriguous vale, the Blackbird clear,
    At measur'd intervals, with mellow tone,
Choiring [1]the hours of prime? and call thine ear
    To the gay viol dinning in the dale,
    With tabor loud, and bag-pipe's rustic drone
    To merry Shearer's dance; - or jest retail
From festal board, from choral roofs the song;
    And speak of Masque, or Pageant, to beguile
    The caustic memory of a cruel wrong? -
Thy lips acknowledge this a generous wile,
    And bid me still the effort kind prolong;
    But ah! they wear a cold and joyless smile.

1: "While Day arises, that sweet hour of prime." MILTON'S PAR. LOST.

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

Sonnet XXXV. Spring.

Anna Seward, Simple Poetry

Sonnet LIII. Written In The Spring 1785 On The Death Of The Poet Laureat.

Anna Seward, Simple Poetry

Sonnet XII.

Anna Seward, Simple Poetry

Sonnet LXXXIX. Subject Continued.

Anna Seward, Simple Poetry

English

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Sonnet XI.

How sweet to rove, from summer sun-beams veil'd,
    In gloomy dingles; or to trace the tide
    Of wandering brooks, their pebbly beds that chide;
    To feel the west-wind cool refreshment yield,
That comes soft creeping o'er the flowery field,
    And shadow'd waters; in whose bushy side
    The Mountain-Bees their fragrant treasure hide
    Murmuring; and sings the lonely Thrush conceal'd! -
Then, Ceremony, in thy gilded halls,
    Where forc'd and frivolous the themes arise,
    With bow and smile unmeaning, O! how palls
At thee, and thine, my sense! - how oft it sighs
    For leisure, wood-lanes, dells, and water-falls;
    And feels th' untemper'd heat of sultry skies!

Anna Seward

Sonnet XLVIII.

Now young-ey'd Spring, on gentle breezes borne,
    'Mid the deep woodlands, hills, and vales, and bowers,
    Unfolds her leaves, her blossoms, and her flowers,
    Pouring their soft luxuriance on the morn.
O! how unlike the wither'd, wan, forlorn,
    And limping Winter, that o'er russet moors,
    Grey ridgy fields, and ice-incrusted shores,
    Strays! - and commands his rising Winds to mourn.
Protracted Life, thou art ordain'd to wear
    A form like his; and, shou'd thy gifts be mine,
    I tremble lest a kindred influence drear
Steal on my mind; - but pious Hope benign,
    The Soul's bright day-spring, shall avert the fear,
    And gild Existence in her dim decline.

Anna Seward

Sonnet XLIII. To May, In The Year 1783.

My memory, long accustom'd to receive
    In deep-engraven lines, each varying trait
    Past Times and Seasons wore, can find no date
    Thro' many years, O! MAY, when thou hadst leave,
As now, of the great SUN, serene to weave
    Thy fragrant chaplets; in poetic state
    To call the jocund Hours on thee to wait,
    Bringing each day, at morn, at noon, at eve,
His mild illuminations. - Nymph, no more
    Is thine to mourn beneath the scanty shade
    Of half-blown foliage, shivering to deplore
Thy garlands immature, thy rites unpaid;
    Meads dropt with [1]gold again to thee belong,
    Soft gales, luxuriant bowers, and wood-land song.

1: Kingcups.

Anna Seward

Sonnet XXXVI. Summer.

Now on hills, rocks, and streams, and vales, and plains,
    Full looks the shining Day. - Our gardens wear
    The gorgeous robes of the consummate Year.
    With laugh, and shout, and song, stout Maids and Swains
Heap high the fragrant hay, as thro' rough lanes
    Rings the yet empty waggon. - See in air
    The pendent cherries, red with tempting stains,
    Gleam thro' their boughs. - Summer, thy bright career
Must slacken soon in Autumn's milder sway;
    Then thy now heapt and jocund meads shall stand
    Smooth, - vacant, - silent, - thro' th' exulting Land
As wave thy Rival's golden fields, and gay
    Her Reapers throng. She smiles, and binds the sheaves;
    Then bends her parting step o'er fall'n and rustling leaves.

June 27th, 1782.

Anna Seward

Sonnet XXXV. Spring.

In April's gilded morn when south winds blow,
    And gently shake the hawthorn's silver crown,
    Wafting its scent the forest-glade adown,
    The dewy shelter of the bounding Doe,
Then, under trees, soft tufts of primrose show
    Their palely-yellowing flowers; - to the moist Sun
    Blue harebells peep, while cowslips stand unblown,
    Plighted to riper May; - and lavish flow
The Lark's loud carols in the wilds of air.
    O! not to Nature's glad Enthusiast cling
    Avarice, and pride. - Thro' her now blooming sphere
Charm'd as he roves, his thoughts enraptur'd spring
    To HIM, who gives frail Man's appointed time
    These cheering hours of promise, and of prime.

April 29th, 1782.

Anna Seward

Sonnet IV. To Honora Sneyd[1], Whose Health Was Always Best In Winter.

And now the youthful, gay, capricious Spring,
    Piercing her showery clouds with crystal light,
    And with their hues reflected streaking bright
    Her radiant bow, bids all her Warblers sing;
The Lark, shrill caroling on soaring wing;
    The lonely Thrush, in brake, with blossoms white,
    That tunes his pipe so loud; while, from the sight
    Coy bending their dropt heads, young Cowslips fling
Rich perfume o'er the fields. - It is the prime
    Of Hours that Beauty robes: - yet all they gild,
    Cheer, and delight in this their fragrant time,
For thy dear sake, to me less pleasure yield
    Than, veil'd in sleet, and rain, and hoary rime,
    Dim Winter's naked hedge and plashy field.

May 1770.

1: Afterwards Mrs. Edgeworth.

Anna Seward