To Claudia Homonoa
My words were delicately breathed
As Syren notes: the Cyprian's head
Never shone out more golden-wreathed
Than mine: but now I lie here dead.
A chattering swallow, bright and wild,
Whom one man loved for all her years —
Having loved her even as a child:
I leave him nothing but his tears.
As Syren notes: the Cyprian's head
Never shone out more golden-wreathed
Than mine: but now I lie here dead.
A chattering swallow, bright and wild,
Whom one man loved for all her years —
Having loved her even as a child:
I leave him nothing but his tears.
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