William Johnson Cory

(1823 - 1892 / England)

Heraclitus - Poem by William Johnson Cory

They told me, Heraclitus, they told me you were dead,
They brought me bitter news to hear and bitter tears to shed.
I wept, as I remembered, how often you and I
Had tired the sun with talking and sent him down the sky.

And now that thou art lying, my dear old Carian guest,
A handful of grey ashes, long long ago at rest,
Still are thy pleasant voices, thy nightingales, awake;
For Death, he taketh all away, but them he cannot take.


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Read poems about / on: sky, death, sun, remember



Poem Submitted: Friday, January 3, 2003



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