By Arthur Davison Ficke

The world shakes with the terrible tramp of war

And the foe's menace swirls through every sea.

But here the Buddha still broods ceaselessly

In hush more real than our strange tumults are.

Here where the fighting hosts of long ago

Once clashed and fell, here where the armored hordes

Razed the great city with their flashing swords,

Now only waves flash, only breezes blow.