Anna Seward (Анна Сьюард)

Sonnet 12. Chill'd by unkind Honora's alter'd eye

Chill'd by unkind Honora's alter'd eye,
    “Why droops my heart with fruitless woes forlorn,”
    Thankless for much of good?—what thousands, born
    To ceaseless toil beneath this wintry sky,
Or to brave deathful Oceans surging high,
    Or fell Disease's fever'd rage to mourn,
    How blest to them wou'd seem my destiny!
    How dear the comforts my rash sorrows scorn!—
Affection is repaid by causeless hate!
    A plighted love is chang'd to cold disdain!
    Yet suffer not thy wrongs to shroud thy fate,
But turn, my Soul, to blessings which remain;
    And let this truth the wise resolve create,
    The Heart estranged no anguish can regain.

1. Sonnet 89. Yon late but gleaming Moon, in hoary light
2. Sonnet 50. In every breast Affection fires, there dwells
3. Sonnet 15. The evening shines in May's luxuriant pride
4. Sonnet 82. From a riv'd Tree, that stands beside the grave
5. Sonnet 17. Ah! why have I indulg'd my dazzled sight

Распечатать (To print)

Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1637

Последние стихотворения

To English version