Poem by William Lisle Bowles

Sonnet 9. O Poverty!

O Poverty! though from thy haggard eye,
Thy cheerless mein, of every charm bereft.
Thy brow, that hope's last traces long have left,
Vain Fortune's feeble sons with terror fly;
Thy rugged paths with pleasure I attend;—
For Fancy, that with fairest dreams can bless;
And Patience, in the Pall of Wretchedness,
Sad-smiling, as the ruthless storms descend;
And Piety, forgiving every wrong,
And meek Content, whose griefs no more rebel;
And Genius, warbling sweet her saddest song;
And Pity, list'ning to the poor man's knell,
Long banish'd from the world's insulting throng;
With Thee, and loveliest Melancholy, dwell.

1. Sonnet 1. As slow I climb the cliff's ascending side
2. Sonnet 14. On a Distant View of England
3. Sonnet 7. At a Village in Scotland
4. Sonnet 11. Written at Ostend
5. Greenwich Hospital

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