Sadness and Joy

I pray you, Sadness, leave me soon,

In sweet invention thou art poor!

Thy sister, Joy, can make ten songs

While thou art making four.

One hour with thee is sweet enough;

But when we find the whole day gone

And no created thing is left—

We mourn the evil done.

Thou art too slow to shape thy thoughts

In stone, on canvas, or in song;

But Joy, being full of active heat,

Must do some deed ere long.

Thy sighs are gentle, sweet thy tears;

But if thou canst not help a man

To prove in substance what he feels—

Then give me Joy, who can.

Therefore, sweet Sadness, leave me soon,

Let thy bright sister, Joy, come more;

For she can make ten lovely songs

While thou art making four.