Anna Seward (Анна Сьюард)

Sonnet 96. The breathing freshness of the shining Morn

The breathing freshness of the shining Morn,
    Whose beams glance yellow on the distant fields,
    A sweet, unutterable pleasure yields
    To my dejected sense, that turns with scorn
From the light joys of Dissipation born.
    Sacred Remembrance all my bosom shields
    Against each glittering lance she gaily wields,
    Warring with fond Regrets, that silent mourn
The Heart's dear comforts lost.—But, Nature, thou,
    Thou art resistless still;—and yet I ween
    Thy present balmy gales, and vernal blow,
To Memory owe the magic of their scene;
    For with such fragrant breath, such orient rays,
    Shone the soft mornings of my youthful days.

1. Sonnet 53. The knell of Whitehead tolls!—his cares are past
2. Sonnet 58. Not the slow Hearse, where nod the sable plumes
3. Sonnet 52. Long has the pall of Midnight quench'd the scene
4. Sonnet 69. Time, and thy charms, thou fanciest will redeem
5. Sonnet 80. As lightens the brown Hill to vivid green

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