Her Answer.
They said to her, “Why are your songs so sad?
Such hidden pain and pathos in them lie,
Such mournful thoughts in sombre language clad,
They bring the tears unbidden to the eye.
If you would only sing in strains more glad
The world would laugh, and so forget to sigh.
“Life has its pain, but has its pleasures too!
A cheery smile is better than a tear;
Some hearts are false, we know, but some are true,
The world is sad, why make it still more drear?
We love Life’s roses better than Life’s rue,
Better than dirge of woe the song of cheer.”
And as they talked with her in cheerful strain
A shadow stole o’er her averted face,
But when she turned to meet their gaze again
Her smiling lips showed naught of sorrow’s trace,
Though in her eyes still lurked a shade of pain
Which naught might banish from its dwelling place.
The lark sings gaily in the morning sun
Uprising from its nest amid the wheat;
The nightingale’s sweet notes, when day is done,
Float gently from the woodland’s cool retreat
In soft and plaintive strains, yet is there one
Who hearing both, would deem the lark’s mark sweet?
