Charlotte Smith

(4 May 1749 – 28 October 1806 / London)

Charlotte Smith Poems

1. A Descriptive Ode 4/15/2010
2. A Walk In The Shrubbery 4/15/2010
3. Apostrophe 4/15/2010
4. April 4/15/2010
5. Beachy Head 4/15/2010
6. Elegy 4/15/2010
7. Evening 4/15/2010
8. Flora 4/15/2010
9. Fragment 4/15/2010
10. from The Emigrants: A Poem 2/5/2016
11. Hope 4/15/2010
12. Huge Vapours Brood Above The Clifted Shore 1/3/2003
13. Inscription 4/15/2010
14. Love And Folly 4/15/2010
15. Occasional Address 4/15/2010
16. Ode To Death 4/15/2010
17. Ode To Despair 4/15/2010
18. Ode To The Poppy 4/15/2010
19. On The Aphorism 4/15/2010
20. Saint Monica 4/15/2010
21. Song I 4/15/2010
22. Song Ii 4/15/2010
23. Song Iii 4/15/2010
24. Sonnet I 1/1/2004
25. Sonnet Ii 4/15/2010
26. Sonnet Iii: To A Nightingale 1/3/2003
27. Sonnet Iv. To The Moon 4/15/2010
28. Sonnet Ix. 4/15/2010
29. Sonnet L. 4/15/2010
30. Sonnet Li. 4/15/2010
31. Sonnet Lii. 4/15/2010
32. Sonnet Liii. 4/15/2010
33. Sonnet Liv. 4/15/2010
34. Sonnet Lix. 4/15/2010
35. Sonnet Lv. 4/15/2010
36. Sonnet Lvi. 4/15/2010
37. Sonnet Lvii. To Dependence 4/15/2010
38. Sonnet Lviii. The Glow-Worm 4/15/2010
39. Sonnet Lx. To An Amiable Girl 4/15/2010
40. Sonnet Lxi 4/15/2010
Best Poem of Charlotte Smith

Sonnet Lxvi: The Night-Flood Rakes

The night-flood rakes upon the stony shore;
Along the rugged cliffs and chalky caves
Mourns the hoarse Ocean, seeming to deplore
All that are buried in his restless waves—
Mined by corrosive tides, the hollow rock
Falls prone, and rushing from its turfy height,
Shakes the broad beach with long-resounding shock,
Loud thundering on the ear of sullen Night;
Above the desolate and stormy deep,
Gleams the wan Moon, by floating mist opprest;
Yet here while youth, and health, and labour sleep,
Alone I wander—Calm untroubled rest,
"Nature's soft nurse," deserts the...

Read the full of Sonnet Lxvi: The Night-Flood Rakes

The Emigrants: Book Ii

Scene, on an Eminence on one of those Downs, which afford to the South a view of the Sea; to the North of the Weald of Sussex. Time, an Afternoon in April, 1793.


Long wintry months are past; the Moon that now
Lights her pale crescent even at noon, has made
Four times her revolution; since with step,
Mournful and slow, along the wave-worn cliff,
Pensive I took my solitary way,
Lost in despondence, while contemplating

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