To My Tortoise

Say it were true that thou outliv'st us all,
O footstool once of Venus; come, renew
Thy tale of old Greek isles, where thy youth grew
In myrtle shadow, near her temple wall;
Or tell me how the eagle let thee fall
Upon the Greek bard's head from heaven's blue,
And Apathy killed Song. And is it true
That thy domed shell would bear a huge stone ball?

O Tortoise, Tortoise, there are weights, alack!
Heavier than stone, and viewless as the air,
Which none have ever tried upon thy back;
Which, ever and anon, we men must bear —
Weights which would make thy solid cover crack
And how we bear them, let those ask who care!