I had a little Sorrow,     Born of a little Sin, I found a room all damp with gloom     And shut us all within; And, "Little Sorrow, weep," said I, "And, Little Sin, pray God to die, And I upon the floor will lie     And think how bad I've been!" Alas for pious planning –     It mattered not a whit! As far as gloom went in that room,     The lamp might have been lit! My Little Sorrow would not weep, My Little Sin would go to sleep – To save my soul I could not keep     My graceless mind on it! So up I got in anger,     And took a book I had, And put a ribbon on my hair     To please a passing lad. And, "One thing there's no getting by– I've been a wicked girl," said I; "But if I can't be sorry, why,     I might as well be glad!"