I'm Saddest When I Sing By William Henry Dawson

It’s not because my soul is filled
With love, or joy, or praise,
Or, that with sentiment ’tis thrilled,
That tuneful song I raise:
It’s not that Fortune’s hand has dealt
To me more than my share:
It does not mean that I’ve not felt
The blight of want and care;
It simply means, I do not want
My friends to share the sting
That in my heart is buried,
So I try to smile and sing.
I trip about from room to room
Light as a bird on wing,
And sing and shout and laugh—but still
I’m saddest when I sing.