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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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7

SONNET I.

[Lone midnight-soothing melancholy bird]

Lone midnight-soothing melancholy bird,
That send'st such music to my sleepless soul,
Chaining her faculties in fast controul,
Few listen to thy song; yet I have heard,
When Man and Nature slept, nor aspen stirred,
Thy mournful voice, sweet vigil of the sleeping—
And liken'd thee to some angelic mind,
That sits and mourns for erring mortals weeping.
The genius, not of groves, but of mankind,
Watch at this solemn hour o'er millions keeping.
In Eden's bowers, as mighty poets tell,
Did'st thou repeat, as now, that wailing call—
Those sorrowing notes might seem, sad Philomel,
Prophetic to have mourned of man the fall.
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