Oh, no! the form that I behold—
No shaping this of memory!
Her self, her self is here ensoul’d!
—I saw her once; and still I see.
SONNET—THE UNATTAINED.
———
BY MRS. SEBA SMITH.
———
Is this, then, Life? Oh! are we born for this?
Oh, no! the form that I behold—
No shaping this of memory!
Her self, her self is here ensoul’d!
—I saw her once; and still I see.
———
BY MRS. SEBA SMITH.
———
Is this, then, Life? Oh! are we born for this?