Acon

 Bear me to Dictaeus,
and to the steep slopes;
to the river Erymanthus.
 

I choose spray of dittany,
cyperum, frail of flower,
buds of myrrh,
all-healing herbs,
close pressed in calathes.
 

For she lies panting,
drawing sharp breath,
broken with harsh sobs.

she, Hyella,
whom no god pities.

Biography | Poems | Best Poems | Short Poems | Quotes | Email Poem |

Poems are below...