Classic Poem

Fair is your stately house across the river,
Long be it yours to flourish all your days.
But now with years my feeble footsteps quiver,
And far my garret by Agrippa's bays.

If in the early morn I come to greet you,
A long and weary journey I must take,
Fain would I travel further yet to meet you
And count the toil as naught for friendship's sake.

One client less can give you little sorrow,
'Tis much to me if I withhold your due;
And so I send my book to say good-morrow,
Ere at a later hour I come to you.