But when again you're gay and glad,
I shrink back into cold repose,
I know not why I like you best,
O'erclouded by a passing sorrow—
Unless because it gives a zest
To the insouciance of to-morrow.
You're welcome to my light caress,
And all the love that with it went;
To live, and love you any less,
Would rob me of my soul's content.