Sigh: It is Lost on the Air

In the 7th and 8th grades, we were obliged to take “auditorium”–a class designed to give students an opportunity to stand facing a crowd of listeners–the most dreaded situation in all of life, according to many.

I remember playing my accordion once. Other than that, it is only poetry readings I remember–“I think that I shall never see…; Oh Captain, my captain…; “I never saw a purple cow…”; “twas brillig in the slithy toves…”

But from all those overworked regulars, I remember standing to read Solitude. (In some cases we were required to memorize. Remember MEMORIZE? It is not a skill thought worthy of the effort in most of today’s elementary classes. They have RAM chips for that anymore.)

From this poem by Ella Wilcox, I recall the first two lines only. I’m guessing they are familiar to some of you. Beyond that, it was only so many words at age 12.

But the incisiveness and cogency of this rhyming truth hit me full in the teeth this morning, a half-century later.

And more than that, I will not say, lest my words be lost on the air.

Solitude
by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Laugh, and the world laughs with you;
Weep, and you weep alone.
For the sad old earth must borrow it’s mirth,
But has trouble enough of its own.
Sing, and the hills will answer;
Sigh, it is lost on the air.
The echoes bound to a joyful sound,
But shrink from voicing care.

Rejoice, and men will seek you;
Grieve, and they turn and go.
They want full measure of all your pleasure,
But they do not need your woe.
Be glad, and your friends are many;
Be sad, and you lose them all.
There are none to decline your nectared wine,
But alone you must drink life’s gall.

Feast, and your halls are crowded;
Fast, and the world goes by.
Succeed and give, and it helps you live,
But no man can help you die.
There is room in the halls of pleasure
For a long and lordly train,
But one by one we must all file on
Through the narrow aisles of pain.