SUCH quiet sleep has come to them!
The Springs and Autumns pass, Nor do they know if it be snow Or daisies in the grass.
All day the birches bend to hear The river's undertone;Across the hush a fluting thrush Sings even-song alone.
But down their dream there drifts no sound, The winds may sob and stir:
On the still breast of Peace they rest And they are glad of her.
They ask not any gift--they mind Nor any foot that fares, Unheededly life passes by-Such quiet sleep is theirs.
