O say what is that thing call'd Light, Which I ne'er enjoy; What are the blessings of the sight, O tell your poor blind boy! You talk of wondrous things you see, You say the sun shines bright; I feel him warm, but how can he Or make it day or night? My day or night myself I make Whene'er I sleep or play; And could I ever keep awake With me 'twere always day. With heavy sighs I often hear You mourn my hapless woe; But sure with patience I can bear A loss I ne'er can know. Then let no what I cannot have My cheer of mind destroy: Whilst thus I sing, I am a king, Although a poor blind boy. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ON HUNTINGDON'S 'MIRANDA' by SIDNEY LANIER A CHILD'S PRAYER [OR, HYMN] by MATILDA BARBARA BETHAM-EDWARDS THE CASTLE OF CHILLON by LETITIA ELIZABETH LANDON JACK CREAMER [OCTOBER 25, 1812] by JAMES JEFFREY ROCHE A CHILD'S GRACE AT FLORENCE; A.A.E.C. by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING THE NIGHT JOURNEY OF A RIVER by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT ENDORSEMENT TO THE DEED OF SEPARATION, IN THE APRIL OF 1816 by GEORGE GORDON BYRON |