Classic Poem

If, Calvus, feeling lingers in the tomb,
And shades are touched by sense of mortal tears,
Mourning in fresh regrets love's vanished bloom,
Weeping the dear delights of vanished years;

Then might her early fate with lighter grief
Thy lost Quinctilia's gentle spirit fill,
To cherish, where she bides, the assured belief
That she is nearest, dearest to thee still.