St. John Lucas

"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."

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