Who is he, dying so hard?
Hard is it to die—
Die in the warmth of June,
Bird and bee in tune—
Die in the singing time,
When all the world's in rhyme,
Hard it is to die.

He is Hope lying so low,
Dull it is to lie—
Lie, and the hounds full cry
Gives music to each sigh—
Lie, and the antlered stag
Leaps light from crag to crag.
Weary 'tis to lie.

Is there never a one to weep?
Weep, for Hope is dead.
Dead, and a body so fair,
Never a woman to care?
Untuneful is laughter and mirth;
Hide him, then, under the earth.
Well it were to be dead.

Here comes one weeping so hard
Woeful 'tis to weep.
Tears on the cheek of youth,
Where smiles should be in truth;
Tears in the eyes of love.
Angels should weep above,
When the young are sad below.
Better were death than woe;
Hard it is to weep.