Solitude by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Laugh, and the world laughs with you;
      Weep, and you weep alone;
For the sad old earth must borrow its mirth,
      But has trouble enough of its own.
Sing, and the hills will answer;
      Sigh, it is lost on the air;
The echoes bound to a joyful sound,
      But shrink from voicing care.

Rejoice, and men will seek you;
      Grieve, and they turn and go;
They want full measure of all your pleasure,
      But they do not need your woe.
Be glad, and your friends are many;
      Be sad, and you lose them all,—
There are none to decline your nectared wine,
      But alone you must drink life’s gall.

Feast, and your halls are crowded;
     Fast, and the world goes by.
Succeed and give, and it helps you live,
     But no man can help you die.
There is room in the halls of pleasure
     For a large and lordly train,
But one by one we must all file on
     Through the narrow aisles of pain.

Ella Wheeler Wilcox (b. November 5, 1850 Johnstown, Wisconsin – d. October 30, 1919)