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Charlotte Smith - Sonnet XIII. From Petrarch
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OH! place me where the burning moon
Forbids the wither`d flower to blow;
Or place me in the frigid zone,
On mountains of eternal snow:
Let me pursue the steps of Fame,
Or Poverty`s more tranquil road;
Let youth`s warm tide my veins inflame,
Or sixty winters chill my blood:
Though my fond soul to Heaven were flown,
Or though on earth `tis doom`d to pine,
Prisoner or free--obscure or known,
My heart, oh Laura! still is thine.
Whate`er my destiny may be,
That faithful heart still burns for thee!
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