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Charlotte Smith - Sonnet XXVIII. To Friendship
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THOU! whose name too often is profaned;
Whose charms celestial, few have hearts to feel;
Unknown to Folly--and by Pride disdain`d!
--To thy soft solace may my sorrows steal!
Like the fair moon, thy mild and genuine ray
Through life`s long evening shall unclouded last;
While pleasure`s frail attachments fleet away,
As fades the rainbow from the northern blast!
`Tis thine, O Nymph! with `balmy hands to bind`
The wounds inflicted in misfortune`s storm,
And blunt severe affliction`s sharpest dart!
--`Tis thy pure spirit warms my Anna`s mind,
Beams through the pensive softness of her form,
And holds its altar--on her spotless heart!
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