A Solitary Amid the Multitude

Amid the throng where laughter swells, I stand apart, alone,
A silent isle in human seas no chart hath ever shown.
Their voices rise like summer winds that stir the ripened grain,
Yet fall upon my guarded heart as unremembered rain.

Bright tapers flare in festal halls, and glasses flash with cheer,
But shadows cling about my breast no revel may make clear.
I move as moves a specter pale through corridors of light,
Unseen, unheard, save by mine own companionship of night.

O strange the lot, to walk among the warm and breathing crowd,
And feel the spirit wrapped about in solitude’s dark shroud!
Hands clasping hands in fellowship pass swiftly over mine,
As though I were but drifting mist no sun may well define.

The jest is told; the circle bends with mirth’s resounding tone;
I shape a smile, yet dwell within a province all my own.

For loneliness is not the waste where never footstep trod,
But desert vast in populous streets beneath the eye of God;
A hollow bell that, struck by joy, returns no answering chime,
An exile’s heart that beats unheard amid the march of time.