Pale Grief with tender Joy is at strife,
And Joy is wounded and nigh to death.
Their quarrel is old,--as old as life,--
"And Grief is right," the sad world saith.
But, hark! from yonder wood
The blackbird singeth gay,
"Joy is in the right of it,
And Grief is in the wrong of it,
Whatever the world may say."
Dull Age with radiant Youth is at strife,
And Youth draws harder and harder breath.
Their quarrel is old,--as old as life,--
"And Age is right," the gray world saith.
But, hark! from yonder wood
The throstle singeth gay,
"Youth is in the right of it,
And Age is in the wrong of it,
Whatever the world may say."
Ah, dearest, Doubt and Love are at strife,
And Love breathes hard and is nigh to death.
Their quarrel is old: shall it spoil our life?
Or shall we heed what the cold world saith?
Come forth into the wood,
And let us sing and say.
"Love is in the right of it,
And Doubt is in the wrong of it,
And the world may go its way."