Sonnet XIV, by Charlotte Smith

How mournful woo the winds among the trees!
In windswept hearts, the echoes find their plight;
No song of birds, nor gentle summer bees,
Are heard amid the gathering folds of night.
For Nature calls, inviting hearts entwined,
To raise their songs above the cloudy deep,
And feel the warmth of gentle breezes bind
The tears of joy no longer must we weep.

From heights where pale-skied hopes are laid to rest,
Let us rejoice in all that we have known;
For Nature holds our memories, blessed,
Within her arms we’ll never be alone.

• Charlotte Smith