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

Beachy Head

ON thy stupendous summit, rock sublime !
That o'er the channel rear'd, half way at sea
The mariner at early morning hails,
I would recline; while Fancy should go forth,
And represent the strange and awful hour
Of vast concussion; when the Omnipotent
Stretch'd forth his arm, and rent the solid hills,
Bidding the impetuous main flood rush between

The rifted shores, and from the continent
Eternally divided this green isle.
Imperial lord of the high southern coast !
From thy projecting head-land I would mark
Far in the east the shades of night ...

Read the full of Beachy Head

Sonnet Xlvii: To Fancy

Thee, Queen of Shadows! -- shall I still invoke,
Still love the scenes thy sportive pencil drew,
When on mine eyes the early radiance broke
Which shew'd the beauteous rather than the true!
Alas! long since those glowing tints are dead,
And now 'tis thine in darkest hues to dress
The spot where pale Experience hangs her head
O'er the sad grave of murder'd Happiness!
Thro' thy false medium, then, no longer view'd,

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