The news you were gone, Heracleitus, brought me to tears: <br />I remembered how many twilights we'd worn out together, <br />talking the sun to his rest. And now, I suppose, <br />you are nothing but dust, old friend, in your home far away. <br />But your nightingales are singing, too quick for the touch <br />even of death who robs us of everything.<br /><br />Callimachus<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/heracleitus/
