Page:The city of dreadful night - and other poems (IA cityofdreadfulni00thomrich).pdf/33

 A demon warder clutched me, Not so fast; First leave your hopes behind!—But years have passed Since I left all behind me, to the last:

You cannot count for hope, with all your wit, This bleak despair that drives me to the Pit: How could I seek to enter void of it?

He snarled, What thing is this which apes a soul, And would find entrance to our gulf of dole Without the payment of the settled toll?

Outside the gate he showed an open chest: Here pay their entrance fees the souls unblest; Cast in some hope, you enter with the rest.

This is Pandora's box; whose lid shall shut, And Hell-gate too, when hopes have filled it; but They are so thin that it will never glut.

I stood a few steps backwards, desolate; And watched the spirits pass me to their fate, And fling off hope, and enter at the gate.

When one casts off a load he springs upright, Squares back his shoulders, breathes will all his might, And briskly paces forward strong and light: