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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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13

SONNET VII.

[Fair art thou as the morning, my young Bride!]

Fair art thou as the morning, my young Bride!
Her freshness is about thee; like a river
To the sea gliding with sweet murmur ever
Thou sportest; and, wherever thou dost glide,
Humanity a livelier aspect wears.
Fair art thou as the morning of that land
Where Tuscan breezes in his youth have fanned
Thy grandsire oft. Thou hast not many tears,
Save such as pity from the heart will wring,
And then there is a smile in thy distress!
Meeker thou art than lily of the spring,
Yet is thy nature full of nobleness!
And gentle ways, that soothe and raise me so,
That henceforth I no worldly sorrow know!
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