And there is ev'n a happiness

There's not a string attuned to mirth But has its chord in melancholy.

But evil is wrought by want of thought, As well as want of heart.

His death which happened in his berth, At forty-odd befell: They went and told the sexton, and The sexton tolled the bell.

I remember, I remember The house where I was born, The little window where the sun Came peeping in at morn; He never came a wink too soon Nor brought too long a day;

I remember, I remember The fir-trees dark and high; I used to think their slender tops Were close against the sky: It was a childish ignorance, But now 'tis little joy

I saw old Autumn in the misty morn Stand shadowless like Silence, listening To silence.