Colley Cibber[7677-/757]The Blind Boy
¶0 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 heOr make it day or night?[442]My day or night myself I makeWhene'er I sleep or play;And could I ever keep awakeWith me 'twere always day.
¶With heavy sighs I often hearYou mourn my hapless woe;But sure with patience I can bearA loss I ne'er can know.
¶Then let not what I cannot haveMy cheer of mind destroy:Whilst thus I sing, I am a king,Although a poor blind boy.