The Lonely Life Poem by John William Inchbold

A sunless, blinded city in the day,
A joyless, starless city in the night,
A wild and barren moor and no clear way,
An ever-sounding sea concealed from sight,
A far off mountain leading yet on high,
Volcanic depths no mortal may explore,
The hopeless language born of every sigh,
Poor thought that leaves us darker than before,
With labouring pant it scaled some law of being!
A world most musical, our hearing dull,
A beauteous universe, to our dim seeing
Embracing nothing infinite and full—
Are all the types of lonely life we lead,
Ere flashes God's wise spirit for our need.