Anna Seward (Анна Сьюард)

Sonnet 23. Do I not tell thee surly Winter's flown

       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,
Choiring1 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.

1. Sonnet 42. Lo! the Year's final Day!—Nature performs
2. Sonnet 8. Short is the time the oldest Being lives
3. Sonnet 52. Long has the pall of Midnight quench'd the scene
4. Sonnet 31. O, EVER DEAR! thy precious, vital powers
5. Sonnet 90. My hour is not yet come!—these burning eyes

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