In vain. Sonnet, vain to me. the smiling. Mornings shine, And redning Phabus lifts his golden Fire: The Birds in vain Or chearful Fields their amorous Descant resume their green Alive. Descant joyn; no Heart, but mine expire These tare, alas! for other Notes repine, And weep the more because I weep in vain FACSIMILE OF SONNET TO RICHARD WEST. |