And now that thou art lying, my dear old Carian guest, A handful of grey ashes, long, long ago at rest, Still are thy pleasant voices, thy nightingales awake; For Death, he taketh all away, but them he cannot take. — Callimachus Copy Share Image
Someone spoke of your death, Heraclitus. It brought me Tears, and I remembered how often together We ran the sun down with talk . . . somewhere You've long been dust, my Halicarnassian friend. But your Nightingales live on. Though… — Callimachus Copy Share Image
Two goddesses now must Cyprus adore; The Muses are ten, and the Graces are four; Stella's wit is so charming, so sweet her fair… — Callimachus Copy Share Image
You're walking by the tomb of Battiades, Who knew well how to write poetry, and enjoy Laughter at the right moment, over the wine. — Callimachus Copy Share Image
Here sleeps Saon, of Acanthus, son of Dicon, a holy sleep: say not that the good die. — Callimachus Copy Share Image
I wept as I remembered how often you and I had tired the sun with talking and sent him down the sky. — Callimachus Copy Share Image
And now that thou art lying, my dear old Carian guest, A handful of grey ashes, long, long ago at rest, Still are thy… — Callimachus Copy Share Image
Someone spoke of your death, Heraclitus. It brought me Tears, and I remembered how often together We ran the sun down with talk .… — Callimachus Copy Share Image
