Poem by Charlotte Turner Smith

Sonnet 1. The partial Muse, has from my earliest hours

THE partial Muse, has from my earliest hours,
Smil'd on the rugged path I'm doom'd to tread,
And still with sportive hand has snatch'd wild flowers,
To weave fantastic garlands for my head:
But far, far happier is the lot of those
Who never learn'd her dear delusive art;
Which, while it decks the head with many a rose,
Reserves the thorn, to fester in the heart.
For still she bids soft Pity's melting eye
Stream o'er the ills she knows not to remove,
Points every pang, and deepens every sigh
Of mourning friendship or unhappy love.
Ah! then, how dear the Muse's favours cost,
If those paint sorrow best--who feel it most! 

1. Sonnet 16. From Petrarch (YE vales and woods! fair scenes of happier hours!)
2. Sonnet 70. On Being Cautioned Against Walking on an Headland Overlooking the Sea Because It Was Frequented by a Lunatic
3. Sonnet 43. The Unhappy Exile
4. Sonnet 51. Supposed to have been written in the Hebrides
5. Sonnet 83. The Sea View

Print

1843 Views

Last Poems

To Russian version