Minstrelsy

For ever, since my childish looks

Could rest on Natures pictured books;

For ever, since my childish tongue

Could name the 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:

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