Sonnet on the Death of Mr. Richard West

In vain to me the smiling mornings shine,
   And reddening Phoebus 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 newborn 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.