What is this life if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.
No time to stand beneath the boughs
I hear leaves drinking rain;
I hear rich leaves on top
Giving the poor beneath
Drop after drop;
When I had money, money, O!
I knew no joy till I went poor;
For many a false man as a friend
Came knocking all day at my door.
When April scatters charms of primrose gold
Among the copper leaves in thickets old,
And singing skylarks from the meadows rise,
To twinkle like black stars in sunny skies;
No idle gold -- since this fine sun, my friend,
Is no mean miser, but doth freely spend.
No prescious stones -- since these green mornings show,
Now, joy is born of parents poor,
And pleasure of our richer kind;
Though pleasure's free, she cannot sing
As sweet a song as joy confined.
She walks as lightly as the fly
Skates on the water in July.
To hear her moving petticoat
It was the Rainbow gave thee birth,
And left thee all her lovely hues;
And, as her mother’s name was Tears,
So runs it in my blood to choose
A week ago I had a fire
To warm my feet, my hands and face;
Cold winds, that never make a friend,
Crept in and out of every place.
While joy gave clouds the light of stars,
That beamed wher'er they looked;
And calves and lambs had tottering knees,
Excited, while they sucked;