Анна Сьюард (Anna Seward)

Sonnet 90. My hour is not yet come!—these burning eyes

SUBJECT CONTINUED.

My hour is not yet come!—these burning eyes
    Have not yet look'd their last!—else, 'mid the roar
    Of this wild Storm, what gloomy joy to pour
    My freed, exhaling Soul!—sublime to rise,
Rend the conflicting clouds, inflame the skies,
    And lash the torrents!—Bending to explore
    Our evening seat, my straining eye once more
    Roves the wide watry Waste;—but nought descries
Save the pale Flood, o'erwhelming as it strays.
    Yet Oh! lest my remorseless Fate decree
    That all I love, with life's extinguish'd rays
Sink from my soul, to soothe this agony,
    To balm that life, whose loss may forfeit thee,
    Come dear remembrance of departed Days!

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