They told me, Heracleitus, they told me you were dead;
I wept as I remembered, how often you and I
Had tired the sun with talking and sent him down the sky.
And now that thou art lying, my dear old Carian guest,
A handful of gray ashes, long, long ago at rest.
Still are thy pleasant voices, thy nightingales, awake.
For Death he taketh all away, but these he cannot take.
Callimachus (c. 310 - 240 BC) Egypt (born in Libya)
Translated by W. Cory
Source: The world's best poetry. Editor: Bliss Carman, John D. Morris & Company,
No comments:
Post a Comment
Please keep your comments relevant and free from abusive language. Thank you. Note that comments are moderated so it may be a day or two before your comment is posted - irrelevant or abusive comments will not be published.