Sadness and Joy by W. H. Davis

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 givve 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