If things go ill or well
If joy rebounding spreads the face,
Or sea of sorrow swells
A play we each have part,
Each one to weep or laugh as may;
Each one his dress to don
Its scenes, alternative shine and rain.
Thou dream, O blessed dream!
Spread far and near thy veil of haze,
Tone down the lines so sharp,
Make smooth what roughness seems.
No magic but in thee!
Thy touch make desert bloom to life.
Harsh thunder, sweetest song,
Fell death, the sweet release.
~Swami Vivekananda~
(Written to Miss Christine Greenstidel from Paris, 14th August 1900.)