Sonnets by Edward Moxon |
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VIII. |
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XXI. |
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XXIII. | SONNET XXIII.
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XXIV. |
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XXVII. |
XXVIII. |
Sonnets | ||
29
SONNET XXIII.
[The Muses weep around their ancient seat]
The Muses weep around their ancient seat;The streams of Stowey heave a piteous moan;
The Nightingales he lov'd sit mute and lone;
And the sad Lars leave not their dumb retreat.
The Dryads keep within their mossy cells;
The flowers there open not at morn nor eve;
The hills re-echo with a thousand knells,
For he is gone for whom all shepherds grieve.
He made the sweetest Music of them all,
And when he sang nor old nor young would stir;
You could not even hear the waterfall
While he rehears'd that “Ancient Mariner,”
Or told in accents, that like manna fell,
The wild and wondrous tale of Christabel!
Sonnets | ||