Classic Poem

My Mother said: The child is changed
That used to be so still;
All the day long she sings, and sings,
And seems to think no ill;
She laughs as if some inward joy
Her heart would overfill.

My Sisters said: Now prithee tell
Thy secret unto us:
Let us rejoice with thee; for all
Is surely prosperous,
Thou art so merry: tell us Sweet:
We had not used thee thus.

My Mother says: What ails the child
Lately so blythe of cheer?
Art sick or sorry? nay, it is
The Winter of the year;
Wait till the Spring time comes again
And the sweet flowers appear.

My Sisters say: Come, sit with us,
That we may weep with thee:
Show us thy grief that we may grieve:
Yea, haply, if we see
Thy sorrow, we may ease it; but
Shall share it certainly.

How should I share my pain, who kept
My pleasure all my own?
My Spring will never come again;
My pretty flowers have blown
For the last time; I can but sit
And think and weep alone.