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!"