Accidents - Poem by John Hay
A vision seen by Plato the divine:
Two shuddering souls come forward, waiting doom
From Rhadamanthus in the nether gloom.
One is a slave hunger has made him pine;
One is a king his arms and jewels shine,
Making strange splendor in the dismal room.
"Hence!" cries the judge, "and strip them! Let them come
With nought to show if they be coarse or fine."
Of garb and body they are swift bereft:
Such is hell's law nothing but soul is left.
The slave, in virtue glorious, is held fit
For those blest isles of peace where just kings go.
The king, by vice deformed, is sent below
To herd with base slaves in the wailing pit.
Comments about Accidents by John Hay
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Read poems about / on: peace
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep
Mary Elizabeth Frye