Strong arc alone the dead

Strong are alone the dead.
They need not bow the head,
Or reach one hand in ineffectual prayer.

Safe in their iron sleep,
What wrong shall make them weep.
What sting of human anguish reach them there?

They are gone safe beyond the strong one's reign,
Who shall decree against them any pain?
Will they entreat in tears

The evil-laden years
To sprinkle trouble gently on their head?
Safe in their house of grass.

Eternity may pass,
And be to these an instant in its tread.
Calm as an autumn night, brief as the song,

Of the wood dove. The dead alone are strong.
Love is not there or Hate,
Weak slaves of feebler fate;

Their lord is nothing here. They dare not come.
All pretty toys that vex,
Great problems that perplex.

And, worst, all vague life hungers here are dumb.
Their day is over. Sad they silence keep
Abashed before the perfect crowning sleep.