Boat of Flowers
In brightly rainbowed boat
with fields of flowers strewn,
abundant like the joy
with which I wait your face,
I stand. O Naiad, guard
my love until the dawn
and bring us eye to eye.
My boat in lively hues
is covered bright with blooms.
I wait; my love returns
on fair and hopeful morn.
O ancient of the deep,
give speed to homeward sails
and turn my day to joy!
Hell
In hell all art is short,
all time is long,
and deadly is our death:
it mortifies.
The stone will fall again,
the waters sink,
the iron vultures gnaw,
and, out of reach,
the apples waft away,
but worst of all
is rankling feel of time
as mercy's gift --
you feel the debt you owe,
the hours endured,
and always do the right,
and do it well,
whatever you may will,
like burdened beast.
For vice's greatest pain
is reign of good.
