There in their equilibrium
They float—how still, how numb!
There must they rest, there will they stay
Innocent of the judgment day.
Remote from cause, effect retires.
Act slays its dams and sires.
There is no hill, there is no pit.
They have no mark to hit.
It is enough. Closed is the sphere.
There is no more to hear.
They perish not; they do not thrive.
They are at rest, alive,
The Seven Wise Men of Martaban;
And, moribund, the man.
95