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.
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (The Blind Boy by Colley Cibber )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
William Butler Yeats
(13 June 1865 – 28 January 1939)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
- Still I Rise, Maya Angelou
- The Road Not Taken, Robert Frost
- If, Rudyard Kipling
- As I Grew Older, Langston Hughes
- I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings, Maya Angelou
- Dreams, Langston Hughes
- A Dream Within A Dream, Edgar Allan Poe
- Phenomenal Woman, Maya Angelou
- If You Forget Me, Pablo Neruda
- Invictus, William Ernest Henley
Poem of the Day
- my lovely lovely wife, Rasheed Alqahas
- Four Leaf Clover, Eve White
- Eric Gone Postal, Eve White
- Half-Breed or Racist, Eve White
- (Rock ballad) Hold on and letting go, Putri Misnia Shary Bahri (Sh ..
- Road Kill, Liilia Talts Morrison
- Plum Pudding Much Needed, Vera Sidhwa
- The River, bryan wallace
- Strides, Vera Sidhwa
- The Snowdrop, bryan wallace