Niobe, thou whose pride condemned thy heart
Thou foolish girl; how could you be so blind?
The gods are unforgiving, and your art
Of mothering was deadly; Did you find
Your daughters' slaughter worth your senseless boasts
Your blameless sons' demise an even price
For angering a goddess? Fourteen ghosts
Reside with Death and damn your cursed vice
This lecture, though, is fruitless; you know well
That your mistake is yours alone. You weep
Within life, death, in frozen, rocky hell
Their cries would haunt your dreams if you could sleep
A crying stone remains and serves to warn
To kill our pride, or endlessly to mourn