A LONE , alone,
Though bright eyes around me glance,
And to music's ringing tone
Moves on the merry dance!
To the breeze no harp hath spoken,
When its sounding strings are broken.
What is this moving scene to me
But vanity, —
All vanity?
Alone, alone,
Like a dreamer in his dream:
Round him bannered hosts move on,
Plumes wave, and falchions gleam!
Yet the dreamer lieth lonely,
For that gallant throng are only
The airy, empty pageantry
Of vanity, —
All vanity!
Alone, alone,
So shall every soul appear,
When the dreams of earth are gone,
And dawning Day is near.
Then the soul, in slumber seeming,
Shall awake from its long dreaming;
And this bewitching world shall be
But vanity, —
All vanity!