How beautiful, if sorrow had not made Sorrow more beautiful than Beauty's self.

To Sorrow I bade good-morrow, And though to leave her far away behind; But cheerly, cheerly, She loves me dearly: She is so constant to me, and so kind.

O, sorrow! Why dost borrow Heart's lightness from the merriment of May?

To Sorrow / I bade good-morrow, / And thought to leave her far away behind; / But cheerly, cheerly, / She loves me dearly; / She is so constant to me, and so kind.

We all want to do something to mitigate the pain of loss or to turn grief into something positive, to find a silver lining in the clouds. But I believe there is real value in just standing there, being still, being sad.

Thou hast no sorrow in thy song, / No winter in thy year.