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Mary Robinson (Мэри Робинсон)


Sonnet 28. Weak Is the Sophistry


Weak is the sophistry, and vain the art
That whispers patience to the mind’s despair!
That bids reflection bathe the wounds of care,
While Hope, with pleasing phantoms, soothes their smart.
For mem’ry still, reluctant to depart
From the dear spot, once rich in prospects fair,
Bids the fond soul enamour’d there,
And its least charm is grateful to the heart!
He never lov’d, who could not muse and sigh,
Spangling the sacred turf with frequent tears,
Where the small rivulet, that ripples by,
Recalls the scenes of past and happier years,
When, on its banks he watch’d the speaking eye,
And one sweet smile o’erpaid an age of fears!



Mary Robinson's other poems:
  1. Sonnet 13. Bring, Brick to Deck My Brow
  2. Ode to Melancholy
  3. Ode to Valour
  4. Sonnet 9. Ye, Who in Alleys Green
  5. Sonnet 24. O Thou! Meek Orb


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