Ovid IV. 121-146 (Caitlyn's version)

As he lay stretched on the soil, his blood leapt high,
not other than when a pipe at a weak point
has broken and sends forth long spurting jets
of water and slices the air with its spray.
The fruit of the tree was sprinkled with blood
and changed to dark red, and the roots soaked in gore
tinged a purple colour the same hanging berries.
Look now as she comes in fear, not to fail her lover,
seeking for him with both her eyes and her spirit,
eager to explain how great danger she escaped;
while she knows the place and form of the familiar tree,
she is made uncertain by the fruit's colour; she doubts that it is.
While she pauses, she sees beating on the bloody ground
someone's limbs, and steps back, her face more pale
than boxwood, trembling like the sea ruffled by a breeze,
which shivers, brought up by the slightest of winds.
But after a time she recognizes her own lover,
and beats her pure limbs with blows of grief
and tears her hair and embraces the loved corpse,
filling his wounds with tears to mingle with his
blood and kisses his lips on his cold face,
"Pyramus," she shouts, "what chance has taken you from me?
Pyramus, respond! is it me your dearest Thisbe
calling you; listen and lift up your fallen head!"
To the name Thisbe his eyes now heavy with death
Pyramus opened and closed after seeing her face.