Minstrelsy
For ever, since my childish looks
Could rest on Natures pictured books;
For ever, since my childish tongue
Could he themes our bards have sung;
So long, the sweetness of their singing
Hath been to me a rapture bringing!
Yet ask me not the reason why
I have delight in minstrelsy.
I know that much whereof I sing,
Is shapen but for vanishing;
I know that summers flower and leaf
And shine and shade are very brief,
And that the heart they brighten, may,
Before them all, be sheathed in clay! --
I do not know the reason why
I have delight in minstrelsy.
A few there are, whose smile and praise
My minstrel hope, would kindly raise:
But, of those few -- Death may impress
The lips of some with silentness;
While some may friendships faith resign,
And heed no more a song of mine. --
Ask not, ask not the reason why
I have delight in minstrelsy.
The sweetest song that minstrels sing,
Will charm not Joy to tarrying;
The gree bay that earth grow,
Will shelter not in burning woe;
A thousand voices will not cheer,
When one is mute that aye is dear! --
Is there, alas! no reason why
I have delight in minstrelsy.
I do not know! The turf is green
Beh the rains fast-dropping sheen,
Yet asks not why that deeper hue
Doth all its tender leaves renew; --
And I, like-minded, am tent,
While musiy soul is sent,
To question not the reason why
I have delight in minstrelsy.
Years pass -- my life with them shall pass:
And soon, the cricket in the grass
And summer bird, shall louder sing
Than she who owns a minstrels string.
Oh then may some, the dear and few,
Recall her love, whose truth they knew;
When all fet to question why
She had delight in minstrelsy!
Elizabeth Barrett Browning