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?

Reader Comments

Tell us what you think of 'Song.' by Thomas Runciman

comments powered by Disqus

Home | Search | About this website | Contact | Privacy Policy