Alone! Alone! No beacon, far or near!
No chart, no compass, and no anchor stay!
Like melting fog, the mirage melts away
In all-surrounding darkness, void and clear,

Drifting, I spread vain hands, and vainly peer,
And vainly call for pilot--weep and pray;
Beyond these limits not the faintest ray
Shows the distant coast whereto the lost may steer.

O what is Life, if we must hold it thus,
As wind-blown sparks hold momentary fire?
What are these gifts without the larger boon?
O what is Art, or Wealth, or Fame to us

Who scarce have time to know what we desire?
O what is Love, if we must part so soon?