“Not the sea, only, wrecks the hopes of men,
Look deeper, there is shipwreck everywhere,”
So mourned the exquisite Roman's rich despair,
Too high in death for that ignoble pen.
Nero, his wrecker, is amply wrecked since then,
And all that Rome's a whiff of charnel air;
But to subdue Petronius’ mal-de-mer
Have we found drugs? I pray you, What? and When?
Shipwreck, one grieves to say, retains its vogue:
Or let the keel win on in stouter fashion,
And look! your golden lie of Tir-na-n'Og
Is sunset and waste waters, chill and ashen —
Faith lasts? Nay, since I knew your yielded eyes,
I am content with sight.... of Paradise.