The Seen And The Unseen

THEY cry, 'How light the heart and bright,
From which proceed such strains of
gladness!'
They can't discern the pangs that burn,
And seek to drive the bard to madness.

From pryers vain, he hides his pain,
And while with skill his harp lie's plying,
They mark the bloom upon the tomb,
But not the ruin in it lying!