Anna Seward
Winter Evening.
When mourn the dark Winds o'er the lonely plain,
And from pale noon sinks, ere the fifth cold hour,
The transient light, Imagination's power,
With Knowledge, and with Science in her train,
Not unpropitious Hyems' icy reign
Perceives; since in the deep and silent lour
High themes the rapt concent'ring Thoughts explore,
Freed from external Pleasure's glittering chain.
Then most the understanding's culture pays
Luxuriant harvest, nor shall Folly bring
Her aids obtrusive.—Then, with ardent gaze,
The Ingenious to their rich resources spring,
While sullen Winter's dull imprisoning days
Hang on the vacant mind with flagging wing.
Sonnet : XL
December Morning.
I love to rise ere gleams the tardy light,
Winter's pale dawn;—and as warm fires illume,
And cheerful tapers shine around the room,
Thro' misty windows bend my musing sight
Where, round the dusky lawn, the mansions white,
With shutters clos'd, peer faintly thro' the gloom,
That slow recedes; while yon grey spires assume,
Rising from their dark pile, an added height
By indistinctness given.—Then to decree
The grateful thoughts to God, ere they unfold
To Friendship, or the Muse, or seek with glee
Wisdom's rich page!—O, hours! more worth than gold,
By whose blest use we lengthen Life, and free
From drear decays of Age, outlive the Old!