Frances Anne Kemble - Impromptu (I) lyrics

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, famed 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.