Metamorphoses

Thus he said; and he plunged the fatal sword into his breast, then for the first time suffering a wound, where it lay exposed to the steel. Nor were his hands able to draw out the weapon there fixed: the blood itself forced it out. And the earth, made red by the blood, produced a purple flower from the green turf, the same which had formerly been produced from the Œbalian wound. Letters common to that youth and to the hero, were inscribed in the middle of the leaves; the latter belonging to the name, the former to the lamentation.

MetamorphosesOvidHenry T. RileyEnglishVerse permalinkRead in Book 13

Book 13, Line 20ProseID metamorphoses-riley-en-prose-13-20