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Mary Darby Robinson - Sonnet VII: Come, Reason
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Come, Reason, come! each nerve rebellious bind,
Lull the fierce tempest of my fev`rish soul;
Come, with the magic of thy meek controul,
And check the wayward wand`rings of my mind:
Estrang`d from thee, no solace can I find,
O`er my rapt brain, where pensive visions stole,
Now passion reigns and stormy tumults roll—
So the smooth Sea obeys the furious wind!
In vain Philosophy unfolds his store,
O`erwhelm`d is ev`ry source of pure delight;
Dim is the golden page of wisdom`s lore;
All nature fades before my sick`ning sight:
For what bright scene can fancy`s eye explore,
`Midst dreary labyrinths of mental night?
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