Sonnet XC. Subject Continued.

A poem by Anna Seward

My hour is not yet come! - these burning eyes
Have not yet look'd their last! - else, 'mid the roar
Of this wild STORM, what gloomy joy to pour
My freed, exhaling Soul! - sublime to rise,
Rend the conflicting clouds, inflame the skies,
And lash the torrents! - Bending to explore
Our evening seat, my straining eye once more
Roves the wide watry Waste; - but nought descries
Save the pale Flood, o'erwhelming as it strays.
Yet Oh! lest my remorseless Fate decree
That all I love, with life's extinguish'd rays
Sink from my soul, to soothe this agony,
To balm that life, whose loss may forfeit thee,

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