Poem by Anna Seward

Sonnet 43. My memory, long accustom'd to receive

   TO MAY, IN THE YEAR 1783.

My memory, long accustom'd to receive
    In deep-engraven lines, each varying trait
    Past Times and Seasons wore, can find no date
    Thro' many years, O! May, when thou hadst leave,
As now, of the great Sun, serene to weave
    Thy fragrant chaplets; in poetic state
    To call the jocund Hours on thee to wait,
    Bringing each day, at morn, at noon, at eve,
His mild illuminations.—Nymph, no more
    Is thine to mourn beneath the scanty shade
    Of half-blown foliage, shivering to deplore
Thy garlands immature, thy rites unpaid;
    Meads dropt with [1]gold again to thee belong,
    Soft gales, luxuriant bowers, and wood-land song.

1: Kingcups. 

1. Sonnet 30. That song again!—its sounds my bosom thrill
2. Sonnet 28. O, Genius! does thy Sun-resembling beam
3. Sonnet 52. Long has the pall of Midnight quench'd the scene
4. Sonnet 63. Thy Genius, Colebrooke, faithless to his charge
5. Sonnet 25. Fortunate Vale! exulting Hill! dear Plain!

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