IT is so sad because it is so sweet, you see,

The white rose is so pale, almost too pale,

So light and slight, fleetingly fair and frail,

That one would surely say its sweet shall fail

When the wild withering winds shall rive it ruthlessly—

So we must needs weep hearing that moving melody.

It is so sweet, because it is so sad, you see,

As the grey grave-stone, where the green grass grows,

Or the sad seashore where the full flood flows,

Or the winds withering the wild white rose,

With every painful petal dropping droopingly—

Why doth the white rose wreath itself around that melody?

All sweet things have some sad in them, you see,

And all sad things some sweet, and this is so

Because Love liveth in a world of woe

Made miserable by his most mighty foe,

Who dwells in the dark depths, laughing exultingly—

And this is the mad meaning of that moving melody.