You bid me sing a gay refrain,
Win from my lyre a note more glad,
And when I chose a brighter strain,
Still — still you told me it was sad.
I did not mean it should be so,
Nor was my wish to make you sigh;
But you are young, and do not know
How joy and grief together lie.
There ever is a minor chord
Struck somewhere in our earthly lays,
Ever a shadow on the sward
Of brightest scenes whereon we gaze.
And while we may not heed the one
Nor hear the other, each is there;
Yet lurking in the blithest tone,
Yet darkening the landscape fair.
Thus, often scarcely knowing why,
We cannot look without a tear;
And so it is we sometimes sigh,
Tho' joyous be the song we hear.
