Desolate--Life is so dreary and desolate-- Women and men in the crowd meet and mingle, Yet with itself every soul standeth single, Deep out of sympathy moaning its moan-- Holding and having its brief exultation-- Making its lonesome and low lamentation-- Fighting its terrible conflicts alone.
To behold the day-break! The little light fades the immense and diaphanous shadows, The air tastes good to my palate.