THERE'S a lonely spot in the soul of man,
More lone than the moonless sea;
And a gulf, that never a bridge can span,
'Tween him and all that be;
And the lips we kiss, and the eyes we love,
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And the glory of golden hair,
Melt like the stars in the mist above,
And shed no sunlight there.
There's a weary voice in the soul of man
That cries for the great "to be,"
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Like the moan of the worlds when time began,
Or the wail of the wind by the sea;
And only the fall of the faded leaf
And the sigh of the night in the trees,
Can utter the spirit's lonely grief
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And the sorrow that no one sees.