Sonnet LXXI

THE chill waves whiten in the sharp North-east;Cold, cold the night-blast comes, with sullen sound,And black and gloomy, like my cheerless breast:Frowns the dark pier and lonely sea-view round.Yet a few months—and on the peopled strandPleasure shall all her varied forms display;Nymphs lightly tread the bright reflecting sand,And proud sails whiten all the summer bay:Then, from these winds that whistle keen and bleak,Music's delightful melodies shall floatO'er the blue waters; but 'tis mine to seekRather, some unfrequented shade, remoteFrom sights and sounds of gaiety——I mournAll that gave me delight——Ah! never to return!