Poem by Mary Robinson

Sonnet. Inscribed to Her Grace the Duchess of Devonshire

’TIS NOT thy flowing hair of orient gold,
Nor those bright eyes, like sapphire gems that glow;
Nor cheek of blushing rose, nor breast of snow,
The varying passions of the heart could hold: 

Those locks, too soon, shall own a silv’ry ray,
Those radiant orbs their magic fires forego;
Insatiate TIME shall steal those tints away,
Warp thy fine form, and bend thy beauties low: 

But the rare wonders of thy polish’d MIND
Shall mock the empty menace of decay;
The GEM, that in thy SPOTLESS BREAST enshrin’d,
Glows with the light of intellectual ray;
Shall, like the Brilliant, scorn each borrow’d aid,
And deck’d with native lustre NEVER FADE!

1. Sonnet 28. Weak Is the Sophistry
2. Sonnet 38. Oh Sigh
3. Sonnet 41. Yes, I Will Go
4. Ode to Envy
5. Male Fashions for 1799

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