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Poem by Charlotte Turner Smith


Sonnet 47. To Fancy


Thee, Queen of Shadows! Ч shall I still invoke,
  Still love the scenes thy sportive pencil drew,
When on mine eyes the early radiance broke
  Which shew'd the beauteous rather than the true!
Alas! long since those glowing tints are dead,
  And now 'tis thine in darkest hues to dress
The spot where pale Experience hangs her head
  O'er the sad grave of murder'd Happiness!
Thro' thy false medium, then, no longer view'd,
  May fancied pain and fancied pleasure fly,
    And I, as from me all thy dreams depart,
Be to my wayward destiny subdued:
  Nor seek perfection with a poet's eye,
     Nor suffer anguish with a poet's heart!



Charlotte Turner Smith


Charlotte Turner Smith's other poems:
  1. Sonnet 45. On Leaving A Part Of Sussex
  2. Sonnet 52. The Pilgrim
  3. Sonnet 34. Charm'd by Thy Suffrage
  4. Sonnet 61. ILL-Omen'd Bird! Whose Cries Portentous Float
  5. Verses, on the Death of the Same Lady


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