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Charlotte Smith - Sonnet XLIV: Press`d by the Moon
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Press`d by the Moon, mute arbitress of tides,
              While the loud equinox its power combines,
              The sea no more its swelling surge confines,
           But o`er the shrinking land sublimely rides.
           The wild blast, rising from the Western cave,		
              Drives the huge billows from their heaving bed;
              Tears from their grassy tombs the village dead,
           And breaks the silent sabbath of the grave!
           With shells and sea-weed mingled, on the shore
              Lo! their bones whiten in the frequent wave;		
              But vain to them the winds and waters rave;
           They hear the warring elements no more:
           While I am doom`d—by life`s long storm opprest,
           To gaze with envy on their gloomy rest.
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