Poem by Anna Seward

Sonnet 95. On the damp margin of the sea-beat shore

On the damp margin of the sea-beat shore
    Lonely at eve to wander;—or reclin'd
    Beneath a rock, what time the rising wind
    Mourns o'er the waters, and, with solemn roar,
Vast billows into caverns surging pour,
    And back recede alternate; while combin'd
    Loud shriek the sea-fowls, harbingers assign'd,
    Clamorous and fearful, of the stormy hour;
To listen with deep thought those awful sounds;
    Gaze on the boiling, the tumultuous waste,
    Or promontory rude, or craggy mounds
Staying the furious main, delight has cast
    O'er my rapt spirit, and my thrilling heart,
    Dear as the softer joys green vales impart.

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

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