Llora, y llorarás solo.
Lo que la triste vieja tierra debe prestar es alegría
Pero ella misma tiene suficientes problemas.
Canta, y las colinas te contestarán;
Suspira, y se perderá en el aire.
Los ecos rebotan en un alegre sonido,
Pero se encogen sin considerar la voz.
Alégrate, y los hombres te buscarán:
Aflígete, y ellos darán la vuelta y se irán.
Ellos quieren por completo tu placer entero,
Pero no necesitan tu infortunio.
Muéstrate feliz y muchos serán tus amigos;
Muéstrate triste y los perderás a todos.
No hay nadie que decline tu néctar de vino,
Pero debes beber la hiel de la vida en soledad.
Festeja, y tus salones estarán repletos,
Ayuna, y el mundo te ignorará.
Ten éxito y da, y eso te ayuda a vivir,
Pero nadie puede ayudarte a morir.
Hay espacio en los salones del placer
Para un largo y digno tren,
Pero uno por uno todos tenemos que desfilar
Por los estrechos pasillos del dolor.
Laugh, and the world laughs with you;
Weep, and you weep alone.
For the sad old earth must borrow its 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.
Weep, and you weep alone.
For the sad old earth must borrow its 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.
Ella Wheeler Wilcox (1850-1919)
