I have laugh’d at the jest of a friend;
Now they laugh and I know not the cause,
Tho’ I seem with my looks to attend,
How silly! I ask what it was!
They sing the sweet song of the May,
They sing it with mirth and with glee;
Sure I once thought the sonnet was gay,
But now ’tis all sadness to me.
Oh! give me the dubious light
That gleams thro’ the quivering shade;