Heraclitus
1823-1892
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 remember'd 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.
DayPoems Poem No. 708
<a href="http://www.daypoems.net/poems/708.html">Heraclitus by William (Johnson) Cory</a>
The DayPoems Poetry Collection, www.daypoems.net
Timothy Bovee, editor
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