By Anna Seward
While one sere leaf, that parting Autumn yields,
Trembles upon the thin, and naked spray,
November, dragging on this sunless day,
Lours, cold and sullen, on the watery fields;
And Nature to the waste dominion yields,
Stripped her last robes, with gold and purple gay —
So droops my life, of your soft beams despoiled,
Youth, Health, and Hope, that long exulting smiled;
And the wild carols, and the bloomy hues
Of merry Spring-time, spruce on every plain
Her half-blown bushes, moist with sunny rain,
More pensive thoughts in my sunk heart infuse
Than Winter’s grey, and desolate domain
Faded like my lost Youth, that no bright Spring renews.
Poet Bio
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Sonnet 91: On the fleet streams, the Sun, that late arose
On the fleet streams, the Sun, that late arose,
In amber radiance plays; the tall young grass
No foot hath bruised; clear morning, as I pass,
Breathes the pure gale, that on the blossom blows;
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When I die,
bury me in the sky—
no one is fighting over it.
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(from the sky I can see them).
A grandmother is baking
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We've always been out looking for answers,
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searching for connection, choosing
to send out Stravinsky and whale song,
which, in translation, might very well be
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We launch satellites, probes, telescopes
unfolding like origami, navigating
geomagnetic storms, major disruptions.
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At the Equinox
The tide ebbs and reveals orange and purple sea stars.
I have no theory of radiance,
but after rain evaporates
off pine needles, the needles glisten.
In the courtyard, we spot the rising shell of a moon,
and,...