Poem by Charlotte Turner Smith

Sonnet 28. To Friendship

THOU! whose name too often is profaned;
Whose charms celestial, few have hearts to feel;
Unknown to Folly--and by Pride disdain'd!
--To thy soft solace may my sorrows steal!
Like the fair moon, thy mild and genuine ray
Through life's long evening shall unclouded last;
While pleasure's frail attachments fleet away,
As fades the rainbow from the northern blast!
'Tis thine, O Nymph! with 'balmy hands to bind'
The wounds inflicted in misfortune's storm,
And blunt severe affliction's sharpest dart!
--'Tis thy pure spirit warms my Anna's mind,
Beams through the pensive softness of her form,
And holds its altar--on her spotless heart! 

1. Sonnet 16. From Petrarch (YE vales and woods! fair scenes of happier hours!)
2. Sonnet 51. Supposed to have been written in the Hebrides
3. Sonnet 33. To the Naiad of the Arun
4. Sonnet 66. The Night-Flood Rakes
5. Sonnet 13. From Petrarch (OH! place me where the burning moon)

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