Classic Poem

Behold Theophila, your promised bride,
Whose mind with Attic learning deep is dyed.
Well might the garden of the happy sage
Claim her and all the Stoic equipage.
So little like the common female kind,
Your books in her a critic sure will find;
For e'en Pantaenis cannot her outshine
Though she be ranked with the Pierian nine.
It was a lover praised fair Sappho's art,
Your maid's as skilled and has a purer heart.