More Lonesome than the Desert Wild

 The Stranger
by Henry Longueville Mansel

 I stood amidst a joyful crowd, in festive pageantry:
Among the gay, the fair, the proud, was none to smile on me.
 No! cold was every glancing eye, and heartless every tone:
 And in the midst of gaiety I felt I was alone. 

 I turned me from the festal scene -- my heart was truly sad;
 I felt I must not linger there, where all save me were glad.
 I was a lonely being there -- unnoticed and unknown:
 I turned me from the sight and wept, because I was alone. 

I stood where every look was warm, and every accent kind;
I thought not of the giddy throng, the joys I left behind:
But, withering like the autumn leaves, those kindred souls are gone,
 And I am left in solitude, neglected and alone. 

 More lonesome than the desert wild, than ocean's trackless wave;
 More mournful than the pall of death, more cheerless than the grave;
 Is he who weeps for loved ones lost, for friendships overthrown;
 And gazes on the busy world, 'mong millions, -- yet alone. 

 O may I learn to rest my hopes on other worlds than this!
Here, pilgrims on life's weary way, we cannot hope for bliss.
 O may I, bowed to God's decrees, with resignation own,
Our destined mansion is not here -- 'tis good to be alone.