Echoes   Like the white light of stillness To an imperceptive ear, Or the echoes of creation Only telescopes can hear,   After end times, and before Time after time began, From the other side of nothing With the voice of more than man,   Come syllables that whisper free Beyond the cage of thought, A knowing beyond knowing, Of things by time forgot,   Speaking naught of life we knew, Poor, sad nostalgia’s art, Confiding quiet tiding To the tired hopeful heart.