WHAT is this life if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare?—
No time to stand beneath the boughs,
And stare as long as sheep and cows:
No time to see, when woods we pass,
Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass:
No time to see, in broad daylight,
Streams full of stars, like skies at night:
No time to turn at Beauty’s glance,
And watch her feet, how they can dance:
No time to wait till her mouth can
Enrich that smile her eyes began?
A poor life this if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.
One of my favourite poems…what IS this life? All of us rush here and there, everywhere…afraid of not being at some place at some time. What are we really rushing for? Is our lives taken over by this constant need to move around, to be at some happening place at a happening time? Are we giving up ‘life’ in order to be able to live?