Sonnets of the Wingless Hours | ||
74
THE OBOL.
Scarce have I rhymed of Charon looming gray
Amid pale rushes, through the dusky air,
And of the obol we no longer care
To put in dead men's mouths as ferry-pay,
Amid pale rushes, through the dusky air,
And of the obol we no longer care
To put in dead men's mouths as ferry-pay,
When, lo, I find, among some pence, to-day
Received as common change, I know not where,
A stray Greek obol, seeming Charon's fare
To put between my lips when I be clay.
Received as common change, I know not where,
A stray Greek obol, seeming Charon's fare
To put between my lips when I be clay.
Poor bastard Obol, even couldst thou cheat
The shadowy Boatman, I should scarcely find
The heart to cross: extinction seems so sweet.
The shadowy Boatman, I should scarcely find
The heart to cross: extinction seems so sweet.
I need thee not; and thou shalt be consigned
To some old whining beggar in the street,
Whose soul shall cross, while mine shall stay behind.
To some old whining beggar in the street,
Whose soul shall cross, while mine shall stay behind.
Sonnets of the Wingless Hours | ||