Classic Poem

Behold , the young Camonius you see
As when he sported in his infancy.
In twenty years his face had manlier grown
And his fair cheeks were shadowed by a down
Whose darkness just had felt the barber's knife,
When jealous fate cut short his thin-spun life.
Far, far away he died; and to his sire
Only came ashes from the funeral pyre.
So while this picture gives his childish face,
A later image in these lines I trace.