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Thomas Gray - On the Death of Richard West
Work rating: Medium

In vain to me the smiling Mornings shine,
         And reddening Phœbus 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.
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