HAPPY SINGING
Men have made songs,
And I among them,
Because some hell
Of grief had wrung them.
The tolling bell
Will often bring
Torture to force
A man to sing.
But I this day
A song will make
Only for joy
And my sweet love’s sake:
And will employ
No sorrowful thing
For making of it,—
That song, I’ll sing.
But lovely laughter
Of singing thrushes
When dawn has broken
And heaven flushes,
Shall be the token
Of one whom days
Nor death can rob
Of joyous praise.