Classic Poem

Our Latin books, in motley row,
Invite us to our task —
Gay Horace, stately Cicero:
Yet there's one verb, when once we know,
No higher skill we ask:
This ranks all other lore above —
We've learned " " Amare " means " to love "! "

So, hour by hour, from flower to flower,
We sip the sweets of Life:
Till, all too soon, the clouds arise,
And flaming cheeks and flashing eyes
Proclaim the dawn of strife:
With half a smile and half a sigh,
" Amare! Bitter One! " we cry.

Last night we owned, with looks forlorn,
" Too well the scholar knows
There is no rose without a thorn " —
But peace is made! We sing, this morn,
" No thorn without a rose! "
Our Latin lesson is complete:
We've learned that Love is Bitter-Sweet!