Mary Robinson (Мэри Робинсон)

Sonnet 38. Oh Sigh

Oh Sigh! thou steal’st, the herald of the breast,
The lover’s fears, the lover’s pangs to tell;
Thou bid’st with timid grace the bosom swell,
Cheating the day of joy, the night of rest!
Oh! lucid Tears! with eloquence confest,
Why on my fading cheek unheeded dwell,
Meek, as the dew-drops on the flowret’s bell
By ruthless tempests to the green-sod prest.
Fond sigh be hush’d! congeal, O! slighted tear!
Thy feeble pow’rs the busy Fates control!
Or if thy crystal streams again appear,
Let them, like Lethe’s, oblivion roll:
For Love the tyrant plays, when hope is near,
And she who flies the lover, chains the soul!

1. To the Myrtle
2. The Bee and the Butterfly
3. Female Fashions for 1799
4. Lines on Hearing it Declared that No Women Were So Handsome as the English
5. Mistress Gurton’s Cat

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