Lines Written Impromptu after Hearing a Lady Singing

Like a blithe birdie in a darksome isle
Of changeless holly 'mid a spacious wood ;
Such was the song, and such the pensive smile.
Robed in the garb of early widowhood.
And yet not so, the birdie has a nest.
And sings of hopes and joys that yet are coming.
When every bush is in its vernal best.
And all her callow brood are sunk to rest
To thousand thousand insects' joyous humming.
But not in hope the human songstress trills
The lilt of joy, or long, long note of sorrow ;
We sing not well till frequent proofs of ills
Have made us too distrustful of to-morrow ;
And yet sometimes we gladly would be gay —
So let's rejoice in joy of yesterday.