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Augusta Davies Webster - Joy that`s half too keen, and true
Work rating: Low

Joy that`s half too keen, and true,
Makes us tears.
    Oh! the sweetness of the tears!
    If such joy at hand appears,
Snatch it, give thine all for it;
Joy that is so exquisite,
Lost, comes not new.
One blossom for a hundred years.

Grief that`s fond and dies not soon
Makes delight.
    Oh! the pain of the delight!
    If thy grief be love`s aright,
Tend it close and let it grow:
Grief so tender not to know
Loses Love`s boon.
Sweet Philomel sings all the night.
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