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 grinned 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.