You say you're glad I write—oh, say not so! <br />My fount of song, dear friend, 's a bitter well; <br />And when the numbers freely from it flow, <br />'Tis that my heart and eyes o'erflow as well. <br />Castalia, famed of yore,—the spring divine, <br />Apollo's smile upon its current wears: <br />Moore and Anacreon found its waves were wine, <br />To me it flows a sullen stream of tears.<br /><br />Frances Anne Kemble<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/impromptu-i/
