1 Why, why repine, my pensive friend,
At pleasures slipped away?
Some will the stern fates never lend,
And all refuse to stay.

2 I see the rainbow in the sky,
The dew upon the grass,
I see them, and I ask not why
They glimmer or they pass.

3 With folded arms I linger not
To call them back; ’twere vain;
In this, or in some other spot,
I know they’ll shine again.