Classic Poem

Her winter roses Nile hath sent to thee,
Caesar, in boastful mood and deemed them rare;
But now her envoy marvelling to see
Thy gate, holds Pharos' garden poor and bare;
He marked sweet Flora's treasure everywhere
And splendour from the Paestan rosaries:
Where'er he turned there met his wandering eyes
A street ablaze with wreaths, a flower-clad Rome.
Egypt, thou canst not match our Roman skies,
Send us thy sheaves and take our roses home.