quarta-feira, setembro 12, 2007


"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, but them he cannot take. "

(william cory)

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