The Poetry Corner

Sonnet XXXV. Spring.

By Anna Seward

In April's gilded morn when south winds blow, And gently shake the hawthorn's silver crown, Wafting its scent the forest-glade adown, The dewy shelter of the bounding Doe, Then, under trees, soft tufts of primrose show Their palely-yellowing flowers; - to the moist Sun Blue harebells peep, while cowslips stand unblown, Plighted to riper May; - and lavish flow The Lark's loud carols in the wilds of air. O! not to Nature's glad Enthusiast cling Avarice, and pride. - Thro' her now blooming sphere Charm'd as he roves, his thoughts enraptur'd spring To HIM, who gives frail Man's appointed time These cheering hours of promise, and of prime. April 29th, 1782.