Classic Poem

M arble, weep, for thou dost cover
A dead beauty underneath thee,
R ich, as nature could bequeath thee:
G rant then, no rude hand remove her.
A ll the gazers on the skies
R ead not in fair heaven's story,
E xpresser truth, or truer glory,
T han they might in her bright eyes.
R are, as wonder, was her wit;
A nd like Nectar ever flowing:
T ill time, strong by her bestowing,
C onquered hath both life and it.
L ife, whose grief was out of fashion,
I n these times. Few so have rued
F ate, in a brother. To conclude,
F or wit, feature, and true passion,
E arth, thou hast not such another.