What know we of the dead, who say these things, <br />Or of the life in death below the mould-- <br />What of the mystic laws that rule the old <br />Grey realms beyond our poor imaginings <br />Where death is life? The bird with spray-wet wings <br />Knows more of what the deeps beneath him hold. <br />Let be! Warm hearts shall never wax a-cold, <br />But burn in roses through eternal springs; <br />For all the vanished fruit and flower of Time <br />Are flower and fruit in worlds we cannot see, <br />And all we see is as a shadow-mime <br />Of things unseen, and Time that comes to flee <br />Is but the broken echo of a rhyme <br />In God's great epic of Eternity.<br /><br />Victor James Daley<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/life-36/
