Poem by Anna Seward

Sonnet 48. Now young-ey'd Spring, on gentle breezes borne

Now young-ey'd Spring, on gentle breezes borne,
    'Mid the deep woodlands, hills, and vales, and bowers,
    Unfolds her leaves, her blossoms, and her flowers,
    Pouring their soft luxuriance on the morn.
O! how unlike the wither'd, wan, forlorn,
    And limping Winter, that o'er russet moors,
    Grey ridgy fields, and ice-incrusted shores,
    Strays!—and commands his rising Winds to mourn.
Protracted Life, thou art ordain'd to wear
    A form like his; and, shou'd thy gifts be mine,
    I tremble lest a kindred influence drear
Steal on my mind;—but pious Hope benign,
    The Soul's bright day-spring, shall avert the fear,
    And gild Existence in her dim decline.

1. Sonnet 58. Not the slow Hearse, where nod the sable plumes
2. Sonnet 25. Fortunate Vale! exulting Hill! dear Plain!
3. Sonnet 2. The Future, and its gifts, alone we prize
4. Sonnet 15. The evening shines in May's luxuriant pride
5. Sonnet 11. How sweet to rove, from summer sun-beams veil'd

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