A Celebration of Women Writers

"Sonnet. The Peasant." by Mary Darby Robinson (1758-1800)
From: Robinson, Mrs. M. Poems. London: J. Bell, 1791. p. 182.

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[Page 182]

SONNET.

THE

PEASANT.

WIDE o'er the barren plain the bleak wind flies,
  Sweeps the high mountain's top, and with its breath
  Swells the curl'd river o'er the plain beneath,
Where many a clay-built hut in ruin lies.

The hardy PEASANT in his little cot,
  Lights his small fire, his homely meal prepares;
  No pamper'd luxury, no splendid cares
Invade the comforts of his humble lot.

Born to endure, he labours thro' the day,
  And when the midnight storm o'er spreads the skies,
  On a clean pallet peacefully he lies,
And sweetly sleeps the lonely hours away;
Till at the peep of dawn he wakes to find,
HEALTH in his veins, and RAPTURE IN HIS MIND.

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