Mary Robinson (Мэри Робинсон)

Sonnet 7. Come, Reason, Come!

Come, Reason, come! each nerve rebellious bind,
Lull the fierce tempest of my fev’rish soul;
Come, with the magic of thy meek controul,
And check the wayward wand’rings of my mind:
Estrang’d from thee, no solace can I find,
O’er my rapt brain, where pensive visions stole,
Now passion reigns and stormy tumults roll--
So the smooth Sea obeys the furious wind!
In vain Philosophy unfolds his store,
O’erwhelm’d is ev’ry source of pure delight;
Dim is the golden page of wisdom’s lore;
All nature fades before my sick’ning sight:
For what bright scene can fancy’s eye explore,
’Midst dreary labyrinths of mental night?

1. Sonnet 38. Oh Sigh
2. Ode to Envy
3. Sonnet 28. Weak Is the Sophistry
4. Stanzas Written under an Oak in Windsor Forest
5. Male Fashions for 1799

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