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.

solitude
ella wheeler wilcox