For ever, since my childish looks br Could rest on Nature's pictured books; br For ever, since my childish tongue br Could name the themes our bards have sung; br So long, the sweetness of their singing br Hath been to me a rapture bringing! br Yet ask me not the reason why br I have delight in minstrelsy. br br I know that much whereof I sing, br Is shapen but for vanishing; br I know that summer's flower and leaf br And shine and shade are very brief, br And that the heart they brighten, may, br Before them all, be sheathed in clay! -- br I do not know the reason why br I have delight in minstrelsy. br br A few there are, whose smile and praise br My minstrel hope, would kindly raise: br But, of those few -- Death may impress br The lips of some with silentness; br While some may friendship's faith resign, br And heed no more a song of mine. -- br Ask not, ask not the reason why br I have delight in minstrelsy. br br The sweetest song that minstrels sing, br Will charm not Joy to tarrying; br The greenest bay that earth can grow, br Will shelter not in burning woe; br A thousand voices will not cheer, br When one is mute that aye is dear! -- br Is there, alas! no reason why br I have delight in minstrelsy. br br I do not know! The turf is green br Beneath the rain's fast-dropping sheen, br Yet asks not why that deeper hue br Doth all its tender leaves renew; -- br And I, like-minded, am content, br While music to my soul is sent, br To question not the reason why br I have delight in minstrelsy. br br Years pass -- my life with them shall pass: br And soon, the cricket in the grass br And summer bird, shall louder sing br Than she who owns a minstrel's string.