Poems (Kemble)/Impromptu (You say you're glad I write—oh, say not so)
For works with similar titles, see Impromptu.
IMPROMPTU.
You say you're glad I write—oh, say not so!
My fount of song, dear friend, 's a bitter well;
And when the numbers freely from it flow,
Tis that my heart, and eyes, o'erflow as well.
My fount of song, dear friend, 's a bitter well;
And when the numbers freely from it flow,
Tis that my heart, and eyes, o'erflow as well.
Castalia, fam'd of yore,—the spring divine,
Apollo's smile upon its current wears:
Moore and Anacreon, found its waves were wine,
To me, it flows a sullen stream of tears.
Apollo's smile upon its current wears:
Moore and Anacreon, found its waves were wine,
To me, it flows a sullen stream of tears.