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Sonnets

by Edward Moxon
Moxon, Edward (1801-1858)

collapse sectionI. 
[PART FIRST.]
  
[dedication]
 I. 
SONNET I.
 II. 
SONNET II.
 III. 
SONNET III.
 IV. 
SONNET IV.
 V. 
SONNET V.
 VI. 
SONNET VI.—To a Bird.
 VII. 
SONNET VII.
 VIII. 
SONNET VIII.
 IX. 
SONNET IX.—Solace derived from Books.
 X. 
SONNET X.
 XI. 
SONNET XI.
 XII. 
SONNET XII.
 XIII. 
SONNET XIII.
 XIV. 
SONNET XIV.
 XV. 
SONNET XV.—To the Worldlings.
 XVI. 
SONNET XVI.
 XVII. 
SONNET XVII.
 XVIII. 
SONNET XVIII.
 XIX. 
SONNET XIX. ON AN OAK, IN THE PARISH OF CHESHUNT, SAID TO HAVE BEEN PLANTED IN 1066, BY SIR THEODORE GODFREY, OR GOFFBY, WHO CAME OVER WITH WILLIAM THE CONQUEROR.
 XX. 
SONNET XX.
 XXI. 
SONNET XXI.
 XXII. 
SONNET XXII.
 XXIII. 
SONNET XXIII.
 XXIV. 
SONNET XXIV.
 XXV. 
SONNET XXV.
 XXVI. 
SONNET XXVI.
 XXVII. 
SONNET XXVII.
 XXVIII. 
SONNET XXVIII.
 XXIX. 
SONNET XXIX.
 XXX. 
SONNET XXX.
 XXXI. 
SONNET XXXI.
 XXXII. 
SONNET XXXII.
  
TO THE MUSE.
collapse sectionII. 
PART SECOND.
  
[dedication]
 I. 
SONNET I.
 II. 
SONNET II.
 III. 
SONNET III.
 IV. 
SONNET IV.
 V. 
SONNET V.
 VI. 
SONNET VI.
 VII. 
SONNET VII.
 VIII. 
SONNET VIII.
 IX. 
SONNET IX.
 X. 
SONNET X.
 XI. 
SONNET XI.
 XII. 
SONNET XII.
 XIII. 
SONNET XIII.
 XIV. 
SONNET XIV.
 XV. 
SONNET XV.
 XVI. 
SONNET XVI.
 XVII. 
SONNET XVII. WRITTEN IN PERE LA CHAISE, ON THE SPOT WHERE MARSHAL NEY IS BURIED.
 XVIII. 
SONNET XVIII.
 XIX. 
SONNET XIX. ABELARD AND HELOISE.
 XX. 
SONNET XX.
 XXI. 
SONNET XXI. (WRITTEN AT SAINT CLOUD.)
 XXII. 
SONNET XXII.
 XXIII. 
SONNET XXIII.
 XXIV. 
SONNET XXIV.
 XXV. 
SONNET XXV.
 XXVI. 
SONNET XXVI. (OCCASIONED BY THE DEBATE ON THE MOTION FOR A REVISION OF THE PENSION LIST.)
 XXVII. 
SONNET XXVII.
 XXVIII. 
SONNET XXVIII.

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21

SONNET XV.—To the Worldlings.

Speak not to me of fortune or base gain;
Both Indies hold no treasure half so fair
As she I love. Dull lead can ye compare
With rubies or with diamonds? Cease your strain.
Have I not eyes that kindly look on me;
Lips that to touch would charm an anchorite;
Calm hope that lives in dimples, where delight
Sits ever thron'd; a voice whose melody
The west winds imitate when they would press
The rosy cheek of June; smiles far more cheering
Than bright Apollo's, thro' the dark clouds peering;
With these a heart that even despair might bless?
Away ye worldly crew; or tell me which
Of all yon servile crowd is half so rich?
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