Didymus. In this dark,
Imperial Diocletian’s telltale dark,
And even to the sober ears of eld,
What danger in the word! But now and here,
Danger I love as if she were my fawn.
Turn the lamp full this way: I’ll answer thee.
A true-accounted Christian I am not:
Afar from them my nurture; but I heard
How my young mother, long now in her urn,
Received them: whence aroma of their prayers