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Charlotte Smith - Sonnet LXXXIV. To The Muse
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WILT thou forsake me who in life`s bright May
Lent warmer lustre to the radiant morn;
And even o`er summer scenes by tempests torn,
Shed with illusive light the dewy ray
Of pensive pleasure? Wilt thou, while the day
Of saddening autumn closes, as I mourn
In languid, hopeless sorrow, far away
Bend thy soft step, and never more return?--
Crush`d to the earth, by bitterest anguish press`d,
From my faint eyes thy graceful form recedes;
Thou canst not heal a heart like mine that bleeds;
But, when in quiet earth that heart shall rest,
Haply mayst thou one sorrowing vigil keep,
Where Pity and Remembrance bend and weep!
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