The merry waves dance up and down, and play, <br />Sport is granted to the sea; <br />Birds are the choristers of the empty air, <br />Sport is never wanting there. <br />The ground doth smile at the spring's flowery birth, <br />Sport is granted to the earth; <br />The fire its cheering flame on high doth rear, <br />Sport is never wanting there, <br />If all the elements, the earth, the sea, <br />Air, and fire, so merry be, <br />Why is man's mirth so seldom and so small, <br />Who is compounded of them all?<br /><br />Abraham Cowley<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sport-4/
