You thought my heart too far diseased; You wonder when my fancies play To find me gay among the gay, Like one with any trifle pleased. The shade by which my life was crost, Which makes a desert in the mind, Has made me kindly with my kind, And like to him whose sight is lost; Whose feet are guided thro' the land, Whose jest among his friends is free, Who takes the children on his knee, And winds their curls about his hand. He plays with threads, he beats his chair For pastime, dreaming of the sky; His inner day can never die, His night of loss is always there. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO A CHILD OF QUALITY, FIVE YEARS OLD. THE AUTHOR THAN FORTY by MATTHEW PRIOR EMBLEMS OF LOVE: 4. THE TIMOROUS ADVENTURER by PHILIP AYRES THE TULIP AND THE LILY, SELECTION by JAMES BARCLAY THE SPIRIT IS TRUE by HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE THE APE AND THE FOX, ON THE FRUITS OF GREEDINESS AND CREDULITY by JOHN BYROM |