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Hilltop: A Literary Paper. Volume 1 Number 2

2 To His Soul

page 11

2 To His Soul

Sweet little soul of mine,
Tiny being, frail and fine,
Dear beloved guest within my head,

Thou descendest, helpless one,
Poor, pale, friendless one,
To the chilly kingdom of the dead;

Simple still, without remorse
Of murder, poison, spitefulness,
Treasures deigning not to keep

So beloved of common men.
Go, thy fortune seek: then
Stir me not again: I sleep.