We can escape our doom; of mortals none
His youth retakes again, for azure wings
Are on her shoulders, and we sons of care
Are all too slow to catch such flying things.
Mindful of this, be gentle, is my prayer,
And love me, guileless, ev’n as I love thee;
So when thou hast a beard, such friends as were
Achilles and Patroclus we may be.”
Bion
