Everything flows and nothing stays.
Who ne'er knew salt, or heard the billows roar.
There is the heat of Love, the pulsing rush of Longing, the loverโs whisper, irresistibleโmagic to make the sanest man go mad.
The long historian of my country's woes.
Which would you rather be, a conqueror in the Olympic games, or the crier that proclaims who are conquerors?
The sun rose on the flawless brimming sea into a sky all brazen-all one brightening for gods immortal and for mortal men on plowlands kind with grain.