Expression, child of soul! I fondly trace <br />Thy strong enchantments, when the poet's lyre, <br />The painter's pencil catch thy sacred fire, <br />And beauty wakes for thee her touching grace- <br />But from this frighted glance thy form avert <br />When horrors check thy tear, thy struggling sigh, <br />When frenzy rolls in thy impassion'd eye, <br />Or guilt sits heavy on thy lab'ring heart- <br />Nor ever let my shudd'ring fancy bear <br />The wasting groan, or view the pallid look <br />Of him[A] the Muses lov'd-when hope forsook <br />His spirit, vainly to the Muses dear! <br />For charm'd with heav'nly song, this bleeding breast, <br />Mourns the blest power of verse could give despair no rest.-<br /><br />Helen Maria Williams<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-to-expression/
