Alone! Alone! No beacon, far or near! No chart, no compass, and no anchor stay!
Harvest-time; With russet wood-fruit thick upon the ground, 'mid crumpled ferns and delicate blue harebells.
Have all the hopes of ages come to naught? Is life no more with noble meaning fraught?
Is life but death, and love its funeral pall?
Let Justice, blind and halt and maimed, chastise the rebel spirit surging in my veins, let the Law deal me penalties and pains And make me hideous in my neighbours' eyes.
O what is life, if we must hold it thus as wind-blown sparks hold momentary fire?
What is the worth of anything, But for the happiness 'twill bring?
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