Book contents
- Frontmatter
- Contents
- List of Poets and Years
- List of Poets and Volumes
- Preface
- Acknowledgements
- Introduction
- Suggested Further Reading
- Changing Times
- Textual Notes 1836–1850
- 1836
- 1837
- 1838
- 1839
- 1840
- 1841
- 1842
- 1843
- 1844
- 1845
- 1846
- 1847
- 1848
- 1849
- 1850
- Sources – Volume I
- Index of Poets and Sonnet Titles – Volume I
- Index of Poets and Sonnet First Lines – Volume I
- Index of Sonnet Titles – Volume I
- Index of Sonnet First Lines – Volume I
- Frontmatter
- Contents
- List of Poets and Years
- List of Poets and Volumes
- Preface
- Acknowledgements
- Introduction
- Suggested Further Reading
- Changing Times
- Textual Notes 1836–1850
- 1836
- 1837
- 1838
- 1839
- 1840
- 1841
- 1842
- 1843
- 1844
- 1845
- 1846
- 1847
- 1848
- 1849
- 1850
- Sources – Volume I
- Index of Poets and Sonnet Titles – Volume I
- Index of Poets and Sonnet First Lines – Volume I
- Index of Sonnet Titles – Volume I
- Index of Sonnet First Lines – Volume I
Summary
William Barnes (1801–1886)
Rural Nature
Ye airs of sunny spring that softly blow
With whisp'ry breathings o'er the grasses blade,
Ye grass-bespangling flow'rs—too soon to fade—
That now in gemlike brightness round me grow:
Ye saplings, and ye greenbough'd trees, that throw
Your waving shadows on the sunny glade;
Thou lowland stream, whose winding waters flow,
Like molten silver, to the hoarse cascade:
Give vice the noisy town; and let the great
Ride mighty o'er the earth with pride and pow'r;
Give avarice his gold: but let me flee
Where cold and selfish hearts live not to hate
And scorn. Oh take me to thy lonely bow'r
Sweet rural nature! Life is dear for thee.
To the Moon
Queen of the stars, that ridest forth on high
Amid the silver-skirted clouds of night,
O'ershining proudly from the zenith sky
The gloomy wood upon the southern height;
Now day with busy life and golden light
Has sunk away below the western sky;
And sleep-bound labourers have shut their sight
From voiceless fields and streams that round them lie.
Glory of night, still following the sun,
How sweetly does thy mildly-beaming face,—
Made bright by him,—reflect his glorious rays!
Like thine may be the course that we may run;
Reflecting in the darksome world the grace
Of our Redeemer to our endless praise.
- Type
- Chapter
- Information
- The Anthem Anthology of Victorian Sonnets , pp. 161 - 167Publisher: Anthem PressPrint publication year: 2011