Ramayana 2.527a

The people all with longing moved, The words that Bharat spoke approved, And crowding near to Rama pressed The hero with the same request. The steadfast Rama, when he viewed His glorious brother's mournful mood, With each ambitious thought controlled, Thus the lamenting prince consoled: "I cannot do the things I will, For Rama is but mortal still. Fate with supreme, resistless law This way and that its slave will draw, All gathered heaps must waste away, All lofty lore and powers decay. Death is the end of life, and all, Now firmly joined, apart must fall. One fear the ripened fruit must know, To fall upon the earth below; So every man who draws his breath Must fear inevitable death. The pillared mansion, high, compact, Must fall by Time's strong hand attacked; So mortal men, the gradual prey Of old and ruthless death, decay. The night that flies no more returns: Yamuna for the Ocean yearns: Swift her impetuous waters flee, But roll not backward from the sea. The days and nights pass swiftly by And steal our moments as they fly, E'en as the sun's unpitying rays Drink up the floods in summer blaze. Then for thyself lament and leave For death of other men to grieve, For if thou go or if thou stay, Thy life is shorter day by day. Death travels with us; death attends Our steps until our journey ends, Death, when the traveller wins the goal, Returns with the returning soul. The flowing hair grows white and thin, And wrinkles mark the altered skin. The ills of age man's strength assail: Ah, what can mortal power avail? Men joy to see the sun arise, They watch him set with joyful eyes: But ne'er reflect, too blind to see, How fast their own brief moments flee. With lovely change for ever new The seasons' sweet return they view, Nor think with heedless hearts the while That lives decay as seasons smile.