(310/305 BC / Cyrene, Ancient Libya)

The Death of Heraclitus - Poem by Callimachus

I hear, O friend, the fatal news
Of Heraclitus death.
A sudden tear my cheek bedews,
And sighs suppress my breath.

For I must often call to mind,
How from the crowd we run;
And how to jesting still inclin'd,
We sported in the sun.

Alas! he's gone, and part we must,
And repartee's no more;
But, tho' my friend be sunk in dust,
His muse shall ever soar.

The dart of death shall never fly
To stop her waving wings;
Like Philomel she mounts on high
And still, like her, she sings.

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Poem Submitted: Thursday, January 14, 2016

Poem Edited: Thursday, January 14, 2016

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