They told me, Heraclitus, they told me you were dead
They brought me bitter news to hear
and bitter tears to shed
I wept as I remembered how often you and I
Had tired the sun with talking and sent him down the sky.
I was a mere fly in the eyes of all this world, a nasty, disgusting fly - more intelligent, more highly developed, more refined in feeling than any of them, of course - but a fly that was continually making way for everyone, insulted and injured by everyone.