How little and how lightly
We care for one another!
How seldom and how slightly
Consider each a brother!
For all the world is every man
To his own self alone,
And all beside no better than
A thing he will not own.

And oh, the shame and sadness,
To see how insincerely
The heart, that in its gladness
Went forth to love men dearly,
Is chill'd, and all its warmth repell'd
As just a low mistake,
And half the cordial yearnings quell'd
It felt for others' sake.

The service it would render
Is call'd intrusive boldness,
And thus, that heart so tender,
Now hardening to coldness,
Returns, returns,-- a blighted thing!
To scorn those early days,
The freshness of its green young spring,
Its beauty and its praise.