What is the mystery called joy? A question I've often pondered, During the long hours of the night. In my melancholy, too oft Joy seems to be beyond my reach, A mirage that fades into dust Just as I think I can grasp it. So life becomes a denial Of all that I so vainly seek, Leaving me alone in the dark, Clutching at straws, and each false dawn Bringing me nought but bitter tears. What is the mystery called lov...