“Some fishermen catching fish with trembling rod, or some shepherd leaning on his staff, or a plowman resting upon his plow handle saw them and was astonished; and, because they could make their way through the air, he thought they were gods.

Soon the island of Samos, sacred to Juno, was on their left, both Delos and Paros had been left behind, Lebinthos was on their right, and Calymne, rich in honey, had been passed, when suddenly the boy began to rejoice in the bold flight. He deserted his leader and, carried away by an eagerness for the sky, set his course higher.

The nearness of the destructive sun softened the fragrant wax—the fastening of the feathers—and the wax melted off. He shook his bare arms and, because he lacked wings, could not make use of the air. And his lips, crying out his father’s name, were swallowed up in the dark blue water that gets its name, Icarian Sea, from him.”

—Ovid, Metamorphoses. Icarus and Daedalus, of course. From Classical Gods and Heroes, translated and edited by Rhoda A. Hendricks, 1974.