By Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Laugh, and the world laughs with you;
  Weep, and you weep alone.
For the sad old earth must borrow is 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 owe.
Be glad, and your friends are many;
  Be sad, and you lose them all.
There are non 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 long and lordly train,
But one by one we must all file on
   Through the narrow aisles of pain.