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 the Death world Claws at everything, it will not touch them.
CallimachusMore lightly do his sorrows press upon a man, when to a friend or fellow traveller he tells his griefs.
Callimachus