Sonnet on the Death of Richard West

IN vain to me the smiling mornings shine,

   And red'ning Phobus 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.

Thomas Gray

Index to poems in the collection by Thomas Gray