Classic Poem

When Quintian was consul in the isle
That nursed thy beauty into perfect flower,
The tyrant thought to have thee in his power;
And used thee ill as he himself was vile

Prison and torture could not reconcile
Thy liberal mind with guilt; nor stripes make cower
Thy constant heart. Thy heavenly Spouse doth dower
Thee, Virgin, with the martyr's palm and style.

Agatha, glory of Catania,
Gem among holy virgins, thou art set
A rose where once the cruel thorns were wet;
Thou, with Saint Ursula and Margaret,
Hast Catherine of Alexandria
Among thy fellows, good Saint Agatha.