I gave you wings to fly looming high and easy
over unboarded sea and the entire earth.
At every meal and banquet you will be present
on the lips of guests. Graceful young men
will sing of you in limpid lovely notes
to the clean piping of the flutes.
When you go under the dark vaults of earth
to the mournful chambers of sad Hell,
even when you lie dead you will not lose
your glory. Your name will be recalled
among men always, Kyrnos. You will wheel high
over the mainland and Greek islands
and cross the unharvested sea pulsing with fish,
not by horse but carried to those who love you
in the gifts of Muses capped in violet flowers.
You will be like a song to the living
as long as there is sun, earth. Yet you ignore me
and trick me as if I were a child.