Birds of a Feather

by Theocritus

Theocritus

Cicala is dear to cicala,
Ant loves ant, hawks hawk;
But me the muse and song enchant.
Of this may my house be full;
For neither sleep nor spring
Suddenly appearing is more sweet,
Nor flowers to bees,
Than the presence of the Muses to me.





Last updated January 14, 2019