Poems (Kemble)/Impromptu (You say you're glad I write—oh, say not so)
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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.
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.