Don-t ask me why, alone in dismal thought,
In times of mirth, I-m often filled with strife,
And why my weary stare is so distraught,
And why I don-t enjoy the dream of life;

Don-t ask me why my happiness has perished,
Why I don-t love the love that pleased me then,
No longer can I call someone my cherished--
Who once felt love will never love again;

Who once felt bliss, no more will feel its essence,
A moment-s happiness is all that we receive:
From youth, prosperity and joyful pleasantry,
All that is left is apathy and grief...