Joy kneels at morning's rosy prime,
In worship to the rising sun;
But Sorrow loves the calmer time,
When the day-god his course hath run;
When night is on her shadowy car,
Pale Sorrow wakes while Joy doth sleep;
And guided by the evening star,
She wanders forth to muse and weep.
Joy loves to cull the summer flower,
And wreath it round his happy brow;
But when the dark autumnal hour
Hath laid the leaf and blossoms low;
When the frail bud hath lost its worth,
And Joy hath dashed it from his crest;
Then Sorrow takes it from the earth,
To wither on her withered breast.