Classic Poem

Here sleeps the body of the little maid,
Erotion,
Ere her sixth winter fate had called her shade
To hasten on;
Whoe'er thou art who after me shall own
This tiny plot,
Lay year by year the dues upon her stone;
Forget her not.
So shall thy house endure nor suffering know,
And this remain
The only sign and monument of woe
On thy domain.