To thee, to thee, my fire! Thou hast been burning in my heart all these futile years. If my life were a piece of gold it would come out of its trial brighter, but it is a trodden turf of grass, and nothing remains of it but this handful of ashes.
Rabindranath Tagore, The Hungry Stones and Other Stories
defeat, despair, hopelessness, poetry, rabindranath-tagore, sorrow, tagore