From the Greek of Moschus. <br /> <br />Ye Dorian woods and waves, lament aloud,-- <br />Augment your tide, O streams, with fruitless tears, <br />For the beloved Bion is no more. <br />Let every tender herb and plant and flower, <br />From each dejected bud and drooping bloom, <br />Shed dews of liquid sorrow, and with breath <br />Of melancholy sweetness on the wind <br />Diffuse its languid love; let roses blush, <br />Anemones grow paler for the loss <br />Their dells have known; and thou, O hyacinth, <br />Utter thy legend now--yet more, dumb flower, <br />Than 'Ah! alas!'--thine is no common grief-- <br />Bion the [sweetest singer] is no more.<br /><br />Percy Bysshe Shelley<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/fragment-of-the-elegy-on-the-death-of-bion/
