I will not think those good brown eyes

Have spent their light of truth so soon

But in some canine paradise

Your wraith, I know, rebukes the moon

And quarters every plain and hill

seeking it's master ......

As for me

This prayer at least the gods fulfill

That when I pass the flood and see

Old Charron of the Stygnian coast

Take toll fo all the shades who land

Your loving, faithful, barking ghost

Will leap to lick my phantom hand.