On the Death of Richard West by Thomas Gray

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.

More from Thomas Gray:

• The Progress of Poesy: A Pindaric Ode
• The Fatal Sisters: An Ode
• The Curse Upon Edward
• On the Death of Richard West
• Ode On The Pleasure Arising From Vicissitude
• Ode on a Distant Prospect of Eton College