swallow it, The Holy water of LETHE

Virgil's Aeneid
under
under
under every leaf
drink from the river, forget
drink from the river, forget
there is no point in regret
so drink
No Lethe, Cocytus or Acheron
neither Phlegethon's fiery pain
or the noble river of Styx
is able to wash out the stain
in things that breathe here in the world
for only virtue's water can
wash out the stain in life unfurled
no breezes that come bringing rain
no balm of yellow sandalwood
no necklaces beside, or gems
or soft effulgence of moonbeams
can here avail to calm and soothe
all of men's fevers in this world, whereas
this noble, this supremely flowing cool
well guarded virtue
quells the flame
where is there to be found the scent
that can with virtue's scent compare?
and that is born against the wind
as easily as with it?
where can such another stair be found
that climbs as virtue does to heaven
where can such another stair be found
that climbs as virtue does to heaven
Verily I build such frail houses
Verily I build them by the stream
Verily I build on such foundations
to rot away the leaves of my False Dreams
Heavenly dreams wilt and crumble in the breeze
falling
down
to drown in rivers, out to sea
no longer buoyed, for never was I emptied
of all the men who've ever been inside of me
of all the men who've ever been inside of me