Chorus
Tears alone are left me; in my house sad memories of my son are stored; mournful tresses shorn from his head, chaplets that he wore, libations for the dead departed,
and songs, but not such as golden-haired Apollo welcometh; and when I wake to weep, my tears will ever drench the folds of my robe upon my bosom.
975
The Suppliant Maidens. Euripides. E. P. Coleridge (Translator). London. 1906.
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