Poem by Anna Seward

Sonnet 22. You, whose dull spirits feel not the fine glow

    SUBJECT CONTINUED.

You, whose dull spirits feel not the fine glow
    Enthusiasm breathes, no more of light
    Perceive ye in rapt Poesy, tho' bright
    In Fancy's richest colouring, than can flow
From jewel'd treasures in the central night
    Of their deep caves.—You have no Sun to show
    Their inborn radiance pure.—Go, Snarlers, go;
    Nor your defects of feeling, and of sight,
To charge upon the Poet thus presume,
    Ye lightless minds, whate'er of title proud,
    Scholar, or Sage, or Critic, ye assume,
Arraigning his high claims with censure loud,
    Or sickly scorn; yours, yours is all the cloud,
    Gems cannot sparkle in the midnight Gloom.

1. Sonnet 41. Since dark December shrouds the transient day
2. Sonnet 32. Behold him now his genuine colours wear
3. Sonnet 65. Marcellus, since the ardors of my strain
4. Sonnet 89. Yon late but gleaming Moon, in hoary light
5. Sonnet 85. March, tho' the Hours of promise with bright ray

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