Sonnet XCIX. On The Violent Thunder Storms.

A poem by Anna Seward


Remorseless WINTER! in thy iron reign
Comes the loud whirlwind, on thy pinion borne;
The long long night, - the tardy, leaden morn;
The grey frost, riv'ling lane, and hill, and plain;
Chill silent snows, and heavy, pattering rain.
These are thy known allies; - and Life forlorn,
Yet patient, droops, nor breathes repinings vain;
But now, Usurper, thou hast madly torn
From Summer's hand his stores of angry sway;
His rattling thunders with thy winds unite,
On thy pale snows those livid lightnings play,
That pour their deathful splendors o'er his night,
To poise the pleasures of his golden day,
Soft gales, blue skies, and long-protracted light.

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