Sonnet On The Death Of Mr Richard West

In vain to me the smiling mornings shine, 

And redd’ning Phoebus lifts his golden fire: 
The birds in vain their amorous descant join; 
Or cheerful fields resume their green attire: 
These ears, alas! for other notes repine, 
A different object do these eyes require: 
My lonely anguish melts no heart but mine; 
And in my breast the imperfect joys expire. 
Yet morning smiles the busy race to cheer, 
And new-born pleasure brings to happier men: 
The fields to all their wonted tribute bear; 
To warm their little loves the birds complain: 
I fruitless mourn to him that cannot hear, 
And weep the more, because I weep in vain.

by Thomas Gray


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