Is anyone sad in the
world, I wonder?
Does anyone weep on a
day like this,
With the sun above and
the green earth under?
Why, what is life but
a dream of bliss?
With the sun and the
skies and the birds above me,
Birds that sing as
they wheel and fly -
With the winds to
follow and say they loved me -
Who could be lonely? O
no, not I!
Somebody said in the
street this morning,
As I opened my window
to let in the light,
That the darkest day
of the world was dawning;
But I looked, and the
East was a gorgeous sight
One who claims that he
knows about it
Tells me the Earth is
a vale of sin;
But I and the bees and
the birds - we doubt it,
And think it a world
worth living in.
Someone says that
hearts are fickle,
That love is sorrow,
that life is care,
And the reaper Death,
with his shining sickle,
Gathers whatever is
bright and fair.
I told the thrush, and
we laughed together -
Laughed till the woods
were all a-ring;
And he said to me, as
he plumed each feather,
"Well, people
must croak, if they cannot sing!"
Up he flew, but his
song, remaining,
Rang like a bell in my
heart all day,
And silenced the
voices of weak complaining
That pipe like insects
along the way.
O world of light, and
O world of beauty!
Where are there
pleasures so sweet as thine?
Yes, life is love, and
love is duty;
And what heart
sorrows? O no, not mine!
