Posts tagged ‘sonnet’

Saturday, 28 November 2015

Sonnet by Sibylla Schwarz

If love is chaste, what bears adultery?
If love is good, and does no evil own,
How can its fire so many flames propone?
If love is joy, why’s it called cruelty?
Who love adores, sails on a lustful sea,
And lets himself into death’s net be sewn,
Which does not tear; he lives for sin alone,
Is stripped of virtue, worships vanity.

From: Walsøe-Engel, Ingrid (ed.), German Poetry from the Beginnings to 1750, 1992, Continuum: New York, p. 251.
(https://books.google.com.au/books?id=zB7K9EVCqfkC)

Date: 1650 (published in German); 1992 (translated in English)

By: Sibylla Schwarz (1621-1638)

Translated by: George C. Schoolfield (1925- )

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Tuesday, 6 January 2015

Sonnet by Eliza Daye

Now dark December’s gloom is gone,
Then go with it corroding care;
With festive mirth and jocund song,
To hail the rising year prepare.

Let beauty wear its gayest robe,
While wit exerts its brightest powers,
Let all within your breast be May,
And peace and joy shall lead your hours.

Tho’ wint’ry storms may still descend,
And snow may whiten o’er the ground,
Yet hope presents yon smiling spring,
And rising beauty blooms around.

See from the zephyr’s balmy wing,
Propitious health her roses shed,
To meet here in the morning breeze,
Shall tempt you from your drowsy bed.

Now dark December’s gloom is gone,
And go with it corroding care;
With festive mirth and jocund song,
To hail the rising year prepare.

From: Daye, Eliza, Poems, on Various Subjects, 1798, J. M’creery: Liverpool, pp. 86-87.
(http://find.galegroup.com.rp.nla.gov.au/ecco/infomark.do?&source=gale&prodId=ECCO&userGroupName=nla&tabID=T001&docId=CW114194439&type=multipage&contentSet=ECCOArticles&version=1.0&docLevel=FASCIMILE)

Date: 1798

By: Eliza Daye (c1734-1814)

Friday, 10 October 2014

Sonnet by Joseph Noël Paton

And is it thus our feverous race we run
Through, visible life, — that dream within a dream,
To death, — that WHAT? — like bubbles on a stream,
Bright or obscure, as Fortune’s venal sun
Flatters or flouts, with arbitrary gleam.
Like these, we are not, but do only seem:
Mere hollow semblants! Catching, as a mirror,
Our hues from circumstance: — or truth, or error —
Or gloom, or gaiety. And though, awhile,
We may deceive, and win her specious smile,
With others, as ourselves, deceitful, vain;
What boots it? Will that medicate the pain
Of conscious insignificance? and when
Life’s paltry bubble bursts, — ceases to seem — what then?

From: Paton, J.N., Poems, by a painter, 1861, William Blackwood and Sons, Edinburgh and London, p. 59.
(https://archive.org/stream/poemsbyapainter00patogoog#page/n70/mode/2up

Date: 1861

By: Joseph Noël Paton (1821-1901)

Thursday, 18 September 2014

Sonnet by Francis William Bourdillon

As strong, as deep, as wide as is the sea,
Though by the wind made restless as the wind,
By billows fretted and by rocks confined,
So strong, so deep, so wide my love for thee.
And as the sea; though oft huge waves arise,
So oft that calms can never quite assuage,
So huge that ocean’s whole self seems to rage;
Yet tranquil, deep, beneath the tempest lies:
So my great love for thee lies tranquil, deep,
Forever; though above it passions fierce,
Ambition, hatred, jealousy; like waves
That seem from earth’s core to the sky to leap,
But ocean’s depths can never really pierce;
Hide its great calm, while all the surface raves.

From: Bourdillon, F.W., “Sonnet” from Scribner’s Monthly, an illustrated magazine for the people, Volume 9, issue 3, January 1874, pp. 359-360.
(http://ebooks.library.cornell.edu/cgi/t/text/pageviewer-idx?c=scmo;cc=scmo;rgn=full%20text;idno=scmo0009-3;didno=scmo0009-3;view=image;seq=0365;node=scmo0009-3%3A12)

Date: 1875

By: Francis William Bourdillon (1852-1921)

Sunday, 3 August 2014

Sonnet by Thomas Adney

Ah, doubly good is he, of all mankind,
Whose gen’rous hand imparts the kind relief;
Who aids the friendless with a willing mind,
And soothes the poor neglected child of grief!

Whose breast, the fount of Charity, o’er-flows,
And yearns to succcour innocence distrest,
Who kindly mitigates the widow’s woes–
Ah! good is he, and worthy to be blest!

But curst his lot, who never knew to feel
One pitying pang for wretchedness forlorn,
Whose flinty bosom, far more hard than steel,
Exults in other’s woes, and laughs to scorn
The naked wand’rer, by misfortune driv’n
On the wide world,– and whose relief’s in Heav’n!

From: The European Magazine and London Review containing the Literature, History, Politics, Arts, Manners and Amusements of the Age, Volume 26 from July to December 1794, p. 437.
(http://books.google.com.au/books?id=08MPAAAAQAAJ)

Date: 1794

By: Thomas Adney (17??-18??)

Wednesday, 2 April 2014

Sonnet by Oliver Madox Brown

No more these passion-worn faces shall men’s eyes
Behold in life. Death leaves no trace behind
Of their wild hate and wilder love, grown blind
In desperate longing, more than the foam which lies
Splashed up awhile where the showered spray descries
The waves whereto their cold limbs were resign’d;
Yet ever doth the sea-wind’s undefin’d
Vague wailing shudder with their dying sighs.
For all men’s souls ‘twixt sorrow and love are cast
As on the earth each lingers his brief space,
While surely nightfall comes where each man’s face
In death’s obliteration sinks at last
As a deserted wind-tossed sea’s foam-trace–
Life’s chilled boughs emptied by death’s autumn-blast.

From: Rossetti, William M. and Hueffer, F. (eds), The Dwale Bluth, Hebditch’s Legacy and Other Literary Remains of Oliver Madox Brown, 1876, Tinsley Brothers: London, p. 285.
(https://archive.org/stream/dwalebluthhebdi01browgoog#page/n292/mode/2up)

Date: 1876

By: Oliver Madox Brown (1855-1874)

Sunday, 14 July 2013

Sonnet by Frank Sayers

Addrest to Mr. William Taylor, Jun. in France, during the Summer of 1790.

Tho’ manly ardour in thy bosom glows
While Freedom’s banners wave on Gallia’s plain,
While Freedom’s clarion sounds th’ inspiring strain,
And millions, starting from a base repose,
Sweep from their sickening land the oppressive woes
Of slavery’s gloomy desolating reign;
And fiercely bursting from the despot’s chain
Dash from the haughty throne their tyrant foes;
Amidst the tempest’s howl and wild uproar
Ere yet the shatter’d nation sinks to rest,
Cast a fond look on Britain’s peaceful shore
Nor chace her blessings from thy kindling breast
Here soft affection spreads her graceful store,
And friendship calls thee where no storms molest.

From: Sayers, Frank and Taylor, William, Poetical Works, To which have been prefixed the connected disquisitions of the rise and progress of English poetry, and on English metres, and also some biographical particulars of the author, supplied by W. Taylor, of Norwich, 1830, W Simpkin and R Marshall: London, p. 183.
(http://books.google.com.au/books?id=szg3-6qw2W8C&printsec=frontcover&dq=poetic+works+frank+sayers&hl=en&sa=X&ei=E9fTUYzGKu6RiQeTkoCoDQ&ved=0CDAQ6AEwAA)

Date: 1792

By: Frank Sayers (1763-1817)