Book VII, 713: Not Sepulchral

Few are Erinna’s verses nor is she wordy in her songs, but this her little work is inspired. ‘Therefore fails she not to be remembered, and is not held hidden under the shadowy wing of black night. But we, stranger, the countless myriads of later singers, lie in heaps withering from oblivion. The low song of the swan is better than the cawing of jackdaws echoing far and wide through the clouds of spring.