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