Song.

A poem by Thomas Runciman

You who know what easeful arms
Silence winds about the dead,
Or what far-swept music charms
Hearts that were earth-wearied;

You who know - if aught be known
In that everlasting Hush
Where the life-born years are strewn,
Where the eyeless ages rush, -

Tell me, is it conscious rest
Heals the whilom hurt of life?
Or is Nirvana undistressed
E'en by memory of strife?