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Poem by Anna Seward

Sonnet 62. Dim grows the vital flame in his dear breast

Dim grows the vital flame in his dear breast
    From whom my life I drew;and thrice has Spring
    Bloom'd; and fierce Winter thrice, on darken'd wing,
    Howl'd o'er the grey, waste fields, since he possess'd
Or strength of frame, or intellect.Now bring
    Nor Morn, nor Eve, his cheerful steps, that press'd
    Thy pavement, Lichfield, in the spirit bless'd
    Of social gladness. They have fail'd, and cling
Feebly to the fix'd chair, no more to rise
    Elastic!Ah! my heart forebodes that soon
    The FULL OF DAYS shall sleep;nor Spring's soft sighs,
Nor Winter's blast awaken him!Begun
    The twilight!Night is long!but o'er his eyes
    Life-weary slumbers weigh the pale lids down!

When this Sonnet was written, the Subject of it had languished three years beneath repeated paralytic strokes, which had greatly enfeebled his limbs, and impaired his understanding. Contrary to all expectation he survived three more years, subject, through their progress, to the same frequent and dreadful attacks, though in their intervals he was serene and apparently free from pain or sickness.

Anna Seward

Anna Seward's other poems:
  1. Sonnet 87. Round Cleon's brow the Delphic laurels twine
  2. Sonnet 56. What bashful wildness in those crystal eyes
  3. Sonnet 45. From Possibility's dim chaos sprung
  4. Sonnet 78. Sophia tempts me to her social walls
  5. Sonnet 99. Remorseless Winter! in thy iron reign

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