This side the Styx
And now he passes in the drifting mist,
A shadow amid shadows. I alone
Retain a lasting form, or seem to do.
Claudius Herminius, once a trusty friend,
Is fleeting like the others. Is there none
To stay and give me peace? Ixion now
Had eased me, for he beareth greater pain;
But all alone upon these crumbling banks,
False as the world I left, how shall I be,
Or rather cease from being? Could I lose
My soul, sensation, all that makes me, I,
Oblivion were thrice blessèd. Lo! the boat
Is moving toward me—now at least is change.
Slowly, oh! slowly parts the stagnant flood,
And slow as is repentance, Charon rows!
7
