Joy that's half too keen, and true, <br />Makes us tears. <br />Oh! the sweetness of the tears! <br />If such joy at hand appears, <br />Snatch it, give thine all for it; <br />Joy that is so exquisite, <br />Lost, comes not new. <br />One blossom for a hundred years. <br /> <br />Grief that's fond and dies not soon <br />Makes delight. <br />Oh! the pain of the delight! <br />If thy grief be love's aright, <br />Tend it close and let it grow: <br />Grief so tender not to know <br />Loses Love's boon. <br />Sweet Philomel sings all the night.<br /><br />Augusta Davies Webster<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/joy-that-s-half-too-keen-and-true/
