See, O see!
How every tree,
Every bower,
Every flower,
A new life gives to others’ joys,
While that I
Grief-stricken lie,
Nor can meet
With any sweet
But what faster mine destroys.
What are all the senses’ pleasures,
When the mind has lost all measures?
Hear, O hear!
How sweet and clear
The nightingale
And water’s fall
In concert join for others’ ear,
While to me,
For harmony,
Every air
Echoes despair,
And every drop provokes a tear.
What are all the senses’ pleasures,
When the soul has lost all measures?
GEORGE DIGBY, _Earl of Bristol_, 1612–1676.