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Charlotte Turner Smith (Шарлотта Смит)


Sonnet 67. On Passing Over A Dreary Tract


Swift fleet the billowy clouds along the sky,
Earth seems to shudder at the storm aghast;
While only beings as forlorn as I,
Court the chill horrors of the howling blast.
Even round yon crumbling walls, in search of food,
The ravenous Owl foregoes his evening flight,
And in his cave, within the deepest wood,
The Fox eludes the tempest of the night.
But to my heart congenial is the gloom
Which hides me from a World I wish to shun;
That scene where Ruin saps the mouldering tomb,
Suits with the sadness of a wretch undone.
Nor is the deepest shade, the keenest air,
Black as my fate, or cold as my despair. 



Charlotte Turner Smith's other poems:
  1. Inscription
  2. Sonnet 63. The Gossamer
  3. Sonnet 7. Sweet Poet of the Woods
  4. Sonnet 34. Charm'd by Thy Suffrage
  5. Sonnet 52. The Pilgrim


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