The Blind Boy

O SAY what is that thing call’d Light,
Which I must 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 not what I cannot have
My cheer of mind destroy:
Whilst thus I sing, I am a king,
Although a poor blind boy.

by Colley Cibber

Comments (3)

arpita.. the quest to define LIFE? begins the moment u' are cut off from the umblical chord.. an infinite path... I see the turmoil....the search..eternal... a reality of a good poetic mood..feel oneness with the..thought.. good write.. regards.. sivan..
Why do I try so hard? Because, it is the life, it is the life and it is the life. Tapas Baidya, Kolkata
This poem has lots of meaning to me! I like it! Thanks!