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 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?