1 In vain to me the smiling Mornings shine, <br />2 And reddening Phœbus lifts his golden fire; <br />3 The birds in vain their amorous descant join; <br />4 Or cheerful fields resume their green attire; <br />5 These ears, alas! for other notes repine, <br />6 A different object do these eyes require; <br />7 My lonely anguish melts no heart but mine; <br />8 And in my breast the imperfect joys expire. <br />9 Yet Morning smiles the busy race to cheer, <br />10 And new-born pleasure brings to happier men; <br />11 The fields to all their wonted tribute bear; <br />12 To warm their little loves the birds complain; <br />13 I fruitless mourn to him that cannot hear, <br />14 And weep the more because I weep in vain.<br /><br />Thomas Gray<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/on-the-death-of-richard-west/
