Poem by Anna Seward

Sonnet 8. Short is the time the oldest Being lives

    TRANSLATION.

Short is the time the oldest Being lives,
    Nor has Longevity one hour to waste;
    Life's duties are proportion'd to the haste
    With which it fleets away;—each day receives
Its task, that if neglected, surely gives
    The morrow double toil.—Ye, who have pass'd
    In idle sport the days that fled so fast,
    Days, that nor Grief recalls, nor Care retrieves,
At length be wise, and think, that of the part
    Remaining in that vital period given,
How short the date, and at the prospect start,
Ere to the extremest verge your steps be driv'n!
    Nor let a moment unimprov'd depart,
    But view it as the latest trust of Heav'n!

1. Sonnet 53. The knell of Whitehead tolls!—his cares are past
2. Sonnet 65. Marcellus, since the ardors of my strain
3. Sonnet 56. What bashful wildness in those crystal eyes
4. Sonnet 98. Since my griev'd mind some energy regains
5. Sonnet 38. If he whose bosom with no transport swells

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