On Hyacinthus Poem by Bion of Smyrna
On Hyacinthus
Phoebus tried all his means, and thought of new,
Scarce knowing what he did in his distress;
With nectar bathed him, with ambrosial dew;
But Fate made remedies remediless.
translated by M. J. Chapman
Wednesday, February 3, 2016
Topic(s) of this poem: fate
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8/17/2026 12:35:04 PM # rel_20260813T193622Z_3aad590
