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[ti:Solitude By Ella Wheeler Wilcox] |
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Laugh, and the world laughs with you; |
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Weep, and you weep alone; |
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For the sad old earth must borrow its mirth, |
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But has trouble enough of its own. |
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Sing, and the hills will answer; |
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Sigh, it is lost on the air; |
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The echoes bound to a joyful sound, |
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But shrink from voicing care. |
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Rejoice, and men will seek you; |
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Grieve, and they turn and go; |
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They want full measure of all your pleasure, |
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But they do not need your woe. |
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Be glad, and your friends are many; |
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Be sad, and you lose them all, |
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There are none to decline your nectared wine, |
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But alone you must drink life's gall. |
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Feast, and your halls are crowded; |
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Fast, and the world goes by. |
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Succeed and give, and it helps you live, |
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But no man can help you die. |
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There is room in the halls of pleasure |
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For a long and lordly train, |
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But one by one we must all file on |
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Through the narrow aisles of pain. |