A Fav'rite Has No Friend!

The Paths Of Glory Lead But To The Grave.

They Hear A Voice In Every Wind, And Snatch A Fearful Joy.

The Insect-youth Are On The Wing, Eager To Taste The Honied Spring, And Float Amid The Liquid Noon!

Can Honor's Voice Provoke The Silent Dust, Or Flattery Soothe The Dull, Cold Ear Of Death?

And Weep The More, Because I Weep In Vain.