Classic Poem

Why did I supplicate the powers divine?
Why votive incense burn at every shrine?
Not that I marble palaces might own,
To draw spectators, and to make me known;
Not that my teams might plough new purchas'd plains,
And bounteous autumn glad my countless swains:
I beg'd with you my youthful days to share,
I beg'd in age to clasp the lovely fair;
And when my stated race of life was o'er,
I beg'd to pass alone the Stygian shore.
Can treasur'd gold the tortur'd breast compose?
Or plains, wide cultur'd, soothe the lover's woes?
Can marble-pillar'd domes, the pride of art,
Secure from sorrow the possessor's heart?
Not circling woods, resembling sacred groves,
Nor Parian pavements, nor gay gilt alcoves,
Not all the gems that load an eastern shore,
Not whate'er else the greedy great adore,
Possess'd, can shield the owner's breast from woe,
Since fickle fortune governs all below:
Such toys, in little minds, may envy raise;
Still little minds improper objects praise.
Poor let me be; for poverty can please
With you; without you, crowns could give no ease.
Shine forth, bright morn! and every bliss impart,
Restore Neaera to my doating heart!
For if her glad return the gods deny,
If I solicit still in vain the sky,
Nor power, nor all the wealth this globe contains,
Can ever mitigate my heartfelt pains:
Let others these enjoy; be peace my lot,
Be mine Neaera, mine an humble cot!
Saturnia! grant thy suppliant's timid prayer;
And aid me, Venus! from thy pearly chair.
Yet, if the sisters, who o'er fate preside,
My vows contemning, still detain my bride;
Cease, breast, to heave! cease, anxious blood, to flow!
Come, death! transport me to the realms below.