WHY, why repine, my pensive friend,   At pleasures slipp'd away? Some the stern Fates will never lend,   And all refuse to stay.

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.

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.