Someone spoke of your death, Heraclitus. 4 It brou — Calímaco

Someone spoke of your death, Heraclitus. 4 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 the Deathworld Claws at everything, it will not touch them. 3

From The Greek Anthology, P ETER J AY , ed., no. 152

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