Poetry Archives

Thou wilt not sentence to eternal life
My soul that prays that it may sleep and sleep
Like a white statue dropped into the deep,
Covered with sand, covered with chests of gold,
And slave-bones, tossed from many a pirate hold.

But for this prayer thou wilt not bind in Hell
My soul, that shook with love for Fame and Truth—
In such unquenched desires consumed his youth—
Let me turn dust, like dead leaves in the Fall,
Or wood that lights an hour your knightly hall—
                                        Amen.