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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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14

SONNET VIII.

[O what have I to do with lakes and seas]

O what have I to do with lakes and seas,
With mountains, or with rivers winding slow?
From Andes, capt with earth's primeval snow,
To towering Alps, or where the Ægean breeze
Brings spicy odours from the Grecian Isles,
There is no landscape, bay, or promontory,
None that can match the beauty of thy smiles,
My Tuscan Flow'ret, of that clime the glory!
Hence wherefore should I roam, or gaze at even,
Or pant for summer, or the gorgeous mead?
In thee, the Intelligence of Earth and Heaven,
With adoration pure, I daily read.
In thee, the essence of all good, I see
More than in Nature's dumb sublimity!
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