SO long you wandered on the dusky plain, Where flit the shadows with their endless cry, You reach the shore where all the world goes by, You leave the strife¹, the slavery, the pain； But we, but we, the mortals that remain In vain stretch hands； for Charon sullenly² Drives us afar, we may not come anigh Till that last mystic obolus we gain.

    But you are happy in the quiet place, And with the learned lovers of old days, And with your love, you wander ever-more In the dim woods, and drink forgetfulness Of us your friends, a weary crowd that press About the gate, or labour at the oar³.