Laugh and the world laughs with you.
Weep, and you weep alone:
For this stolid old earth
Has need of your mirth,
It has troubles enough of its own.
Sing, and the hills will echo it:
Sigh, and it's lost on the air;
For they want full measure
Of all your pleasure,
But nobody wants your care.
Feast, and your halls are crowded,
Fast, and they'll pass you by;
Succeed and give,
And they'll let you live,
But fail - and they'll let you die.
(Ella Wheeler Wilcox)
