The little jade Buddha (his favours increase!)—

He's soapy and bland,

And he sits on his stand

And he smiles, and he smiles in an infinite peace;

For he's old, and he knows that, whatever befall,

There is nothing that matters, no, nothing at all.

The little jade Buddha (on us be his balm!)—

The Wheel turneth just

As it must, as it must,

So he sits in an ageless, ineffable calm

Where apples and empires may ripen or fall,

But there's nothing that matters, no, nothing at all.