Poem by Anna Seward

Sonnet 3. From these wild heights, where oft the mists descend

  WRITTEN AT BUXTON IN A RAINY SEASON.

From these wild heights, where oft the mists descend
    In rains, that shroud the sun, and chill the gale,
    Each transient, gleaming interval we hail,
    And rove the naked vallies, and extend
Our gaze around, where yon vast mountains blend
    With billowy clouds, that o'er their summits sail;
    Pondering, how little Nature's charms befriend
    The barren scene, monotonous, and pale.
Yet solemn when the darkening shadows fleet
    Successive o'er the wide and silent hills,
    Gilded by watry sun-beams, then we meet
Peculiar pomp of vision. Fancy thrills,
    And owns there is no scene so rude and bare,
    But Nature sheds or grace or grandeur there.

1. Sonnet 75. He found her not;—yet much the Poet found
2. Sonnet 1. When Life's realities the Soul perceives
3. Sonnet 90. My hour is not yet come!—these burning eyes
4. Sonnet 78. Sophia tempts me to her social walls
5. Sonnet 44. Rapt Contemplation, bring thy waking dreams

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