A DEAR little maid came skipping out 

In the glad new day with a merry shout; 

With dancing feet and with flying hair, 

She sang with joy in the morning air.

”Don’t sing before breakfast, you’ll cry before night

 What a cloak to darken the child’s delight

And the ignorant old nurse, again and again, 

Repeated the ancient, dull refrain.

The child paused, trying to understand;

But her eyes saw the great world rainbow spanned:

Her light little feet hardly touched the earth, 

And her soul brimmed over with innocent mirth.

'Never mind don't listen O sweet little maid!

Make sure of your morning song," I said; 

"And if pain must meet you, why, all the more 

Be glad of the rapture that came before.

"Oh, tears and sorrow are plenty enough, 

Storms may be bitter and paths be rough, 

But our tears should fall like the dear earth's showers, 

That help to ripen the fruits and flowers.

"So gladden the day with your blissful song, 

Sing you while you may, dear, sweet and strong! 

Make sure of your moment of pure delight, 

No matter what trials may come before night." 

—Celia Thaxter.