Poem by Anna Seward

Sonnet 11. How sweet to rove, from summer sun-beams veil'd

How sweet to rove, from summer sun-beams veil'd,
    In gloomy dingles; or to trace the tide
    Of wandering brooks, their pebbly beds that chide;
    To feel the west-wind cool refreshment yield,
That comes soft creeping o'er the flowery field,
    And shadow'd waters; in whose bushy side
    The Mountain-Bees their fragrant treasure hide
    Murmuring; and sings the lonely Thrush conceal'd!—
Then, Ceremony, in thy gilded halls,
    Where forc'd and frivolous the themes arise,
    With bow and smile unmeaning, O! how palls
At thee, and thine, my sense!—how oft it sighs
    For leisure, wood-lanes, dells, and water-falls;
    And feels th' untemper'd heat of sultry skies!

1. Sonnet 65. Marcellus, since the ardors of my strain
2. Sonnet 36. Now on hills, rocks, and streams, and vales, and plains
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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