'In vain to me the smiling mornings shine,     And reddening Phoebus lifts his golden fire;     The birds in vain and 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 wanted tribute bear;     To warm their little loves the birds complain.     'I... Show more

'In vain to me the smiling mornings shine,    
And reddening Phoebus lifts his golden fire;    
The birds in vain and 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 wanted 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    

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