Poem by Anna Seward

Sonnet 12. Chill'd by unkind Honora's alter'd eye

Chill'd by unkind Honora's alter'd eye,
    “Why droops my heart with fruitless woes forlorn,”
    Thankless for much of good?—what thousands, born
    To ceaseless toil beneath this wintry sky,
Or to brave deathful Oceans surging high,
    Or fell Disease's fever'd rage to mourn,
    How blest to them wou'd seem my destiny!
    How dear the comforts my rash sorrows scorn!—
Affection is repaid by causeless hate!
    A plighted love is chang'd to cold disdain!
    Yet suffer not thy wrongs to shroud thy fate,
But turn, my Soul, to blessings which remain;
    And let this truth the wise resolve create,
    The Heart estranged no anguish can regain.

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 38. If he whose bosom with no transport swells
5. Sonnet 36. Now on hills, rocks, and streams, and vales, and plains

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