What is it you see, when you look at the dead?
Your future? Their past? Or darkness? Instead
Of a blinding white light that blows shadows away
As they steal through the night, what they cover by day.
Oh brother sleep well, through the horn gate you pass,
With the Furies beset, for the sinners en masse
All the waters traversed, find two coins on your lips,
As this river of woe runs aside the great Styx .