Happiness: Poem by John Kenyon

A face I saw, whose outward calm
All inward peace might well express;
And whose, I asked, that brow of balm?
Her name, they said, was Happiness.
And what those fillet-bands, I cried,
The which in either hand she bears?
Just such round Cupid's eyes are tied,
And such eternal Justice wears.
'Wouldst Thou be happy,' 'twas replied,
'O'er coming hours must one be cast;
And one (I knew the truth, and sighed)
Must shroud the memory of the past.'

Analysis of this poem