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I, Thyresias, Old man with wrinkled dugs Perceived the scene, and foretold the rest I too awaited the expected guest. He, the young man, arrives. After the torchlight red on sweaty faces After the frosty silence in the gardens After the agony in stony places The shout and the crying Prison, place. And I Thyresias have fore suffered all Enacted on this same grave or bed I who have sat by Thebes below the wall You walked among the lowest of the dead. From Letras Mania