| LXX
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
colours, tunes, and perfumes pour in endless cascades in the
abounding joy that scatters and gives up and dies every moment.
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