St. John Lucas

"The curate thinks you have no soul; I know that he has none."

"But in some canine Paradise Your wraith, I know, rebukes the moon,And quarters every plain and hill, Seeking its master... As for me This prayer at least the gods fulfill; That when I pass the flood and seeOld Charon by the Stygian coast Take toll of all the shades who land, Your little, faithful barking ghost May leap to lick my phantom hand."