Poem by Anna Seward

Sonnet 90. My hour is not yet come!—these burning eyes

SUBJECT CONTINUED.

My hour is not yet come!—these burning eyes
    Have not yet look'd their last!—else, 'mid the roar
    Of this wild Storm, what gloomy joy to pour
    My freed, exhaling Soul!—sublime to rise,
Rend the conflicting clouds, inflame the skies,
    And lash the torrents!—Bending to explore
    Our evening seat, my straining eye once more
    Roves the wide watry Waste;—but nought descries
Save the pale Flood, o'erwhelming as it strays.
    Yet Oh! lest my remorseless Fate decree
    That all I love, with life's extinguish'd rays
Sink from my soul, to soothe this agony,
    To balm that life, whose loss may forfeit thee,
    Come dear remembrance of departed Days!

1. Sonnet 32. Behold him now his genuine colours wear
2. Sonnet 41. Since dark December shrouds the transient day
3. Sonnet 36. Now on hills, rocks, and streams, and vales, and plains
4. Sonnet 65. Marcellus, since the ardors of my strain
5. Sonnet 89. Yon late but gleaming Moon, in hoary light

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