WHOEVER you are who wander near My monument, I'd have you hear From whom I sprang, who sprang from me: Callimachus of Cyrene. You'd know them both: leader, the one, Of his town army years agone: The other, poet; songs he sung Beyond the reach of envy's tongue; Deservedly, for if the glance Of Muses does not fall askance On boyhood, then, when heads are grey They will not cast their friends away. |