Joy and Pleasure

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

Pleasure’s a Moth, that sleeps by day
And dances by false glare at night;
But Joy’s a Butterfly, that loves
To spread its wings in Nature’s light

Joy’s like a Bee that gently sucks
Away on blossoms its sweet hour;
But pleasure’s like a greedy Wasp
That plums and cherries would devour

Joy’s like a Lark that lives alone
Whose ties are very strong, though few;
But Pleasure like a Cuckoo roams
Makes much acquaintance, no friends true

Joy from her heart doth sing at home
With little care if others hear;
But pleasure then is cold and dumb
And sings and laughs with strangers near