Lethe

I find thee apt,
And duller shouldst thou be than the fat weed
That roots itself in ease on Lethe wharf,
Wouldst thou not stir in this.

Here didst thou fall;
and here thy hunters stand,
Sign'd in thy spoil,
and crimson'd in thy Lethe

Let fancy still my sense in Lethe steep;
If it be thus to dream, still let me sleep!


You are my Lethe
ληθη