Classic Poem

Thy hand has shared my labours many a time,
Demetrius, and courts have known thy skill;
Ah, for the youth that faded in its prime,
The hand that ere thy twentieth year lay still!
I saw thee parched by fever's fiery breath,
And could not brook that thou shouldst die a slave;
I gave thee freedom's right before thy death —
Would that my boon had freed thee from the grave!
" Patron" you sighed and owned the gift from me,
Then fared to Lethe's waters, glad and free.