'They say there's a high windless world and strange,
Out of the wash of days and temporal tide,
Where Faith and Good, Wisdom and Truth abide,
Aeterna corpora, subject to no change.'

Rupert Brooke.
THEY say : and yet to me the human gleam
Of chequered life, and many-coloured love.
Are nobler than the eternal things above.
Whereof sad weary mortals fondly dream.
The white eternity that must remain
Calm 'mid creation's rack, unchanged in change.
Less sweet, less bitter is, less nobly strange.
Than hectic joy, and love, and hate, and pain.
And he who fixed this wild and varied flush
Of infinite colour in human life, lest cold
Blank death should seize us, all shall re-unite,
We know not when nor how (as some great hush
May mingle many sounds), in one vast white,
Where yet each hue is shining as of old.