Then all her daughters Poured futile tears in memory of their brother, Beating their naked breasts and calling out The name of Phaethon by night, by day, Who cannot hear their cries above his tomb. Four times the Moon had changed her slender horns Into a globe of light, yet they rained tears As though tears were the habit that they wore And weeping was their only cause to live. At last the eldest daughter, Phaethusa Cried, as she walked the grave, her feet grew numb, And when bright Lampetia came to help her She too felt rooted into clay. A third sister Who tore her hair clutched leaves;
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