...May its index point to joy, And moments wing'd with new delights. Sweet may resound each silver bell, And never quick returning chime, Seem in reproving notes to tell, Of hours mispent, and murder'd time.... — Charlotte Turner Smith Copy Share Image
...May its index point to joy, And moments wing'd with new delights. Sweet may resound each silver bell, And never quick returning chime, Seem… — Charlotte Turner Smith Copy Share Image
“Press’d by the Moon, mute arbitress of tides, While the loud equinox its pow’r combines, The sea no more its swelling surge confines, But… — Charlotte Turner Smith Copy Share Image
Silene, who declines The garish noontide's blazing light; But when the evening crescent shines, Gives all her sweetness to the night. — Charlotte Turner Smith Copy Share Image
“For having been educated in a convent, she knew nothing of the customs or manners of the world; and found it difficult to understand… — Charlotte Turner Smith Copy Share Image
