Ye thrilled me once, ye mournful strains,
Ye anthems of plaintive woe,
My spirit was sad when I was young;
Ah sorrowful long-ago!
But since I have found the beauty of joy
I have done with proud dismay:
For howsoe’er man hug his care
The best of his art is gay.
And yet if voices of fancy’s choir
Again in mine ear awake