Gems Cannot Sparkle in the Midnight Gloom

 Sonnet XXII
by Anna Seward

You, whose dull spirits feel not the fine glow
 Enthusiasm breathes, no more of light
 Perceive ye in rapt Poesy, tho' bright
 In Fancy's richest colouring, than can flow
From jewel'd treasures in the central night
 Of their deep caves.—You have no Sun to show
 Their inborn radiance pure.—Go, Snarlers, go;
 Nor your defects of feeling, and of sight,
To charge upon the Poet thus presume,
 Ye lightless minds, whate'er of title proud,
 Scholar, or Sage, or Critic, ye assume,
Arraigning his high claims with censure loud,
 Or sickly scorn; yours, yours is all the cloud,
 Gems cannot sparkle in the midnight Gloom.