E’en so—but why the tale reveal
Of those, whom year by year unchanged,
Brief absence join’d anew to feel,
Astounded, soul from soul estranged?[8]
(d) 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,