English poem

Of Tamworth

In the dire list of agonizing woes, Severest grief the human bosom knows, Is the fond husband’s lot, ordain’d to lead His infants round their mother’s clay-cold bed.

Youth, beauty, virtue, modesty’s mild grace, Charms of the mind irradiating the face, Could they, ELIZA, have revers’d thy doom, Love had not quench’d his torch upon thy tomb.

Too early Angel! be thy bliss the balm This wound to heal, these rebel griefs to calm, Till the resigning heart shall cease to mourn A blighted lily, and a timeless urn!

More by Anna Seward

Of Coleshill, in Warwickshire
Of Lichfield
Of Lichfield, 1793
Of Marketon, Derbyshire.--Written 1794
Of Trinity College, Cambridge
On a Modern Epic
On England’s Naval Triumphs in the Present War
On Having Read Some of His Compositions on a Rainy Evening, in August, 1789

All 371 poems by Anna Seward