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Rabindranath Tagore - The Gardener XLV: To The Guests
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To the guests that must go bid
God`s speed and brush away all traces
of their steps.
     Take to your bosom with a smile
what is easy and simple and near.
     To-day is the festival of phantoms
that know not when they die.
     Let your laughter be but a meaning-
less mirth like twinkles of light on
the ripples.
     Let your life lightly dance on the
edges of Time like dew on the tip of
a leaf.
     Strike in chords from your harp
fitful momentary rhythms.
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