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.
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, 1883
"Solitude" is Wilcox's most famous poem. She was travelling to Madison, Wisconsin, to attend the Governor's inaugural ball. On her way, there was a young woman dressed in black, crying, sitting across the aisle from her. Miss Wheeler moved next to her and tried to comfort her. When they arrived, the poet was so unhappy that she could barely attend the festivities herself. Looking in the mirror, she suddenly recalled the sorrowful widow and she wrote the opening lines of "Solitude."
