They whirled below me, happy, heartless, free,
While I was left alone, all to myself,
They danced, they sang, they even called to me;
I did not hear them, standing on my shelf
Of sorrow, hanging high upon a wall
O solomn, rigid wood; I watched that crowd
Below me, gliding through their spacious hall,
I would not join them, I was much too proud.
But suddenly my nailed shelf gave way,
I left it and went realing through the air,
I fell amidst the others, shattered clay,
I looked about, then soon became aware
That I was once too high upon a wall
To feel the joy of others in the hall.