Sonnet LXXIII. Translation.

A poem by Anna Seward

He who a tender long-lov'd Wife survives,
Sees himself sunder'd from the only mind
Whose hopes, and fears, and interests, were combin'd,
And blended with his own. - No more she lives!
No more, alas! her death-numb'd ear receives
His thoughts, that trace the Past, or anxious wind
The Future's darkling maze! - His wish refin'd,
The wish to please, exists no more, that gives
The will its energy, the nerves their tone! -
He feels the texture of his quiet torn,
And stopt the settled course that Action drew;
Life stands suspended - motionless - till thrown
By outward causes, into channels new; -
But, in the dread suspense, how sinks the Soul forlorn!

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