| Andrew Macphail, comp. The Book of Sorrow. 1916. | | | XXXIV. Compensation
Heraclitus | | By William Johnson Cory (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 remembered, how often you and I | |
| Had tired the sun with talking and sent him down the sky. | |
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| And now that thou art lying, my dear old Carian guest, | 5 |
| 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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