Charlotte Turner Smith (Шарлотта Смит)

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 85. The Fairest Flowers Are Gone! For Tempests Fell
2. Sonnet 66. The Night-Flood Rakes
3. Sonnet 51. Supposed to have been written in the Hebrides
4. Sonnet 8. To Spring
5. Sonnet 13. From Petrarch (OH! place me where the burning moon)

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