Cares

Having certain cares to drown, To the sea I took them down:

And I threw them in the wave, That engulfed them like a grave.

Swiftly then I plied the oar With a light heart to the shore.

But behind me came my foes: Like a nine-days' corpse each rose,

And (a ghastly sight to see!) Clutched the boat and girned at me!

With a heavy heart, alack, To the land I bore them back.

Not in Water or in Wine Can I drown these cares of mine.

But some day, for good and sure, I shall bury them secure,

Where the soil is rich and brown, With a stone to keep them down,

And to let their end be known, Have my name carved on the stone;

So that passers-by may say, “Here lie cares that had their day,”

And sometimes by moonlight wan, I may sit that stone upon —

With a spectre's solemn phlegm — In my shroud, and laugh at them;

Or — who knows, when all is said? — Maybe weep because they're dead.