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