Callimachus Καλλίμαχος

3rd century BC · The nightingales are the poems his dead friend left

Someone told me of your death, Heraclitus, and it brought me to tears, and I remembered how many times the two of us put the sun to bed with our talk. You, I suppose, my friend from Halicarnassus, are ashes long, long ago. But your nightingales live on, and on them Hades, who snatches everything, shall never lay his hand.

εἶπέ τις, Ἡράκλειτε, τεὸν μόρον, ἐς δέ με δάκρυ ἤγαγεν, ἐμνήσθην δʼ ὁσσάκις ἀμφότεροι ἥλιον ἐν λέσχῃ κατεδύσαμεν ἀλλὰ σὺ μέν που, ξεῖνʼ Ἁλικαρνησεῦ, τετράπαλαι σποδιή· αἱ δὲ τεαὶ ζώουσιν ἀηδόνες, ᾗσιν ὁ πάντων ἁρπακτὴς Ἀίδης οὐκ ἐπὶ χεῖρα βαλεῖ.

Greek Anthology 7.80

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