Anna Seward (Анна Сьюард)

Sonnet 48. Now young-ey'd Spring, on gentle breezes borne

Now young-ey'd Spring, on gentle breezes borne,
    'Mid the deep woodlands, hills, and vales, and bowers,
    Unfolds her leaves, her blossoms, and her flowers,
    Pouring their soft luxuriance on the morn.
O! how unlike the wither'd, wan, forlorn,
    And limping Winter, that o'er russet moors,
    Grey ridgy fields, and ice-incrusted shores,
    Strays!—and commands his rising Winds to mourn.
Protracted Life, thou art ordain'd to wear
    A form like his; and, shou'd thy gifts be mine,
    I tremble lest a kindred influence drear
Steal on my mind;—but pious Hope benign,
    The Soul's bright day-spring, shall avert the fear,
    And gild Existence in her dim decline.

1. Sonnet 78. Sophia tempts me to her social walls
2. Sonnet 89. Yon late but gleaming Moon, in hoary light
3. Sonnet 17. Ah! why have I indulg'd my dazzled sight
4. Sonnet 36. Now on hills, rocks, and streams, and vales, and plains
5. Sonnet 68. Well it becomes thee, Britain, to avow

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