Gitanjali - Verse 70

Is it beyond thee to be glad
With the gladness of this rhythm?
To be tossed and lost and broken
In the Whirl of this fearful joy?

All things rush on,
They stop not,
They look not behind,
No power can hold them back,
They rush on.

Keeping steps with that
Restless, rapid music,
Seasons come dancing and pass away -
Colors, tunes, and perfumes
Pour in endless cascades
In the abounding joy
That scatters and gives up
And dies every moment.
- Rabindranath Tagore (Gitanjali - Verse 70)